


Feelin' Kinda Naughty

by cowboybaebe



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Armie is kind of a clueless dick, Bad Decisions, Borderline Personality Disorder, Cheating, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Eventual Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, There will be angry sex, Timmy is impulsive, Timmy just wants to be loved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27756424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboybaebe/pseuds/cowboybaebe
Summary: Attorney, Timothée Chalamet hates his life in New York. By chance, he encounters his former lover from 8 years ago whom he met at summer camp. On an impulse, he moves halfway across the country to follow his ex but chaos seems to follow Timothée around wherever he goes.Based on the TV show "Crazy Ex Girlfriend".
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 108
Kudos: 67





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea brewing in my mind for so long and I just thought, fuck it, I'll do it myself. I hope I can make this enjoyable. That would be nice.

_I was working hard at a New York job making dough, but it made me blue…_

_One day I was crying a lot…_

_And so, I decided to move to West Covina, California_

_Brand new pals…_

_New career…_

_It happens to be where _Armie_ lives…_

Pause.

_But that’s not why I’m here._

Pale fingers were tap tap tapping away on the keyboard. They were searching for meaning somewhere on the screen.

Timmy had been typing out his version of events for the past hour now. _What did I even expect to happen here?_ He thought to himself.

 _Moving all the way across the country for some loser?_ His mother’s voice now. _Loser._ She had always hated losers. Especially ones named _Armie Hammer._

Timmy thought that if he continued to type and type and type out the very simple events that had led him to this new house, in this new city, with this new job, that he would find out what made him feel so crazy for being here.

No matter how many times he tried, it would always lead him to one man.

He could lie, of course - had been doing so ever since he arrived two weeks ago. He wondered if his new co-workers would ever stop being curious about his reason for leaving behind New York. He’d hear them in the break room whenever he would pass by. Always _“something terrible must’ve happened”_ or _“what would he want to work here for anyways?”._

The general consensus was clear and everybody thought that Timmy’s story didn’t add up.

The story that Timothée had become so accustomed to blurting out every chance he got was actually so ridiculous, that he started to believe it to be true.

One of the first to question him about his sudden move was Darryl, Timmy’s cuddly new boss. Timmy liked to think of him as a cuddly toy because of the way his beige suits only slightly made him resemble a furry bear.

“We are just so honoured and quite frankly. confused to have an attorney of your calibur working with us!” Darryl exclaimed as they mounted the office elevator.

He had been spewing random facts about pizza places and wine bars so excitedly that all Timmy could do was keep nodding. He had only said a few words to his new boss within their first meeting yet it seemed this Darryl “Whitefeather” was allergic to silence or something.

Timothee adjusted his navy suit blazer and looked down at the elevator floor, as if to make the words disappear faster.

“Well, I ran into a guy who was talking to me about his plans to move to SoCal. He was so passionate talking about his home town that I kind of felt, almost like - I don’t know - like glitter...glitter was exploding inside me…Then I get this call about a house swap the very next day and the craziest part was that it was in the same city that guy was moving. It felt like a sign. Just had to go for it. Needed a change. Here I am, I guess.”

Timmy had been speaking so fast that he forgot to breathe and he finally took a deep breath and braced himself to be laughed at, questioned, hit, kicked, _something._ At least something to give the cue to run away and never look back. _Idiot._

Darryl's hearty laugh started to emerge over the ringing that he didn't realise was filling his ears.

“Glad that you found your way over to us then, Timmy-o!” Darryl chuckled.

Oh.

Thank fuck.

Maybe lying isn’t so bad after all. Could pursue an acting career.

Think about the stupid nickname later.

**Camp Canyon Grove. 2012.**

_Flatly I'll stand on my little flat feet and say_  
_Love is a grand and a beautiful thing_  
_I’m not ashamed to reveal_  
_The world-famous feeling I feel_

A row of 16-year-olds swaying slightly in unison are upon the auditorium stage. The ginger girl who is the center of the group possesses the most justifiable confidence, as her singing proves to be the most steady of the group. The others are way too proud for their own good as their voices translate like nails on a chalkboard. None of them seem to care. Shame really does come with age.

There are three girls and one pale, awkward-looking boy who are dancing alongside the ginger.

Despite everything indicating that this performance is shit and not worth anybody's time, Timothee had been spending many hours in his camp bedroom practicing and practicing his routine.

That, alongside getting _familiar_ with his _Armie._

He'd needed this to be perfect like nothing else. If he couldn't make it perfect, he'd be letting down two of the most important people that day because Mom was also here to watch the show. It had been two long months at summer camp and today was the last day.

By the end of this performance, there would be no more stolen glances in the cafeteria, no more staying up until ass-o-clock and getting drunk on cheap stolen wine. No more sneaking into the swimming pools, Armie pulling Timmy by the hand, rummaging through broken vending machines, and stripping naked to go skinny dipping.

There they would make out and playfight, make each other laugh and then head back in the freezing cold, giggling to themselves because it was nearly 6 am and breakfast would be served soon. They would laugh, hand in hand, Armie wrapping Timmy up in a blanket that he stole from the dorms and nothing else would even matter. They'd say their goodbyes and meet up just like that every night.

Armie would lean down to kiss his frozen lips and that was enough - enough to make everything good because _Armie_ didn't always demand perfection from him.

That was all he had been told throughout his life. Sure it's nice to say "Harvard" when everybody is asking where you ended up studying. "Harvard" because that's what mom wants. "Harvard" because people will look at you differently and take all you say as gospel. He's learned to never tell people where he went unless directly asked.

You say "Oh, I went to Harvard" when it is not directly asked of you, everybody thinks you're a pretentious stuck-up fuck.

You say "Harvard" when asked and people say "Harvard? And you never thought to mention it? You just _wanted_ us to _ask_ you about it, didn't you? Wow, you really are a pretentious stuck-up fuck."

_I can't win._

Timmy just wanted to embrace the freedom he's been given because he knows it won't last.

_Happiness isn't made for me._

The boy screeches out a strangled voice, singing,

_I'm as tried and as gay as a daisy_  
_And may a cliche coming true,_  
_I'm promitic and bright as a moon_  
_Lapping night pouring light on the dew!_

He chances a smug look towards the wings.

Armie is working backstage, with his tight black T-shirt rolled up against deliciously tan arms.

God, if it wasn't for this performance, Timmy would be running just to take a bite of him.

Armie, throws him a half-smile and his eyes are sparkling like never before.

The two lock into each other for what could only be considered a second, yet to Timmy it feels like a lifetime.

Armie gives him a little wave and resumes his work backstage.

He feels so elated in this moment, singing and dancing to his heart’s content and he just wishes that life could be this. The stage and the audience, the lights, and the music. It's another one of the few things that make Timothée happy.

He knows he’s off the mark a little with his singing but _fuck it if this is my last performance I'm going out with a bang._

Timothée scopes the audience for a while for a woman whose arms are folded across her chest, she looks impatient and to be honest, bored out of her mind.

Janice Bunch. _Mom._

Timmy tries to throw her a smile but it comes out extremely forced and awkward. Her expression does not change.

Janice, mid-30s, is now divorced and living in a shitty apartment. She keeps herself entertained by being bitter. She never changed her name and luckily for her, she certainly doesn't have to anymore.

Later, Timmy emerges from backstage, out of costume, looking even younger and more vulnerable. He looks around the car park eagerly until he spots Armie, standing with his friendly-faced parents who are doting on him. Timmy walks over, beaming.

"You must be Mr. and Mrs. Hammer, so wonderful to finally meet you." He hooks his arm through Armie’s.

"I have to tell you, Armie has been a dynamo this summer. Color war champion, Tidiest Bunk three weeks in a row and then slinging the props backstage. You know, technical theater is so important. I always say if it weren’t for the people behind the scenes, we talent would be on stage, naked, in the dark. I always say that." Armie looks at his parents, completely confused. They speak English, but not whatever language Timmy just spoke in.

"I’ll explain all of that later." Armie says to his parents. Then he turns to Timmy.

"Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Sure." He looks around the car park. "Where is my Mom? I wonder if she has flowers. Do you think she knows it’s customary to give flowers after a performance?"

"I don’t know, So, um, Timmy, since this is the last day of camp--" At this, Timothée's turns to Armie with a toothy smile.

"Yes. Yes, it is. Where does the time go?" He sighs theatrically. "Oh, Armie, Armie, my sweet Armie Hammer. Session B has been a whirlwind and you... you’ve been my rock. And you’ve awakened my sexual being for the first time."

"It has been a great summer, but--" Just then Timmy spots his mother. No flowers. Mom taps her watch. Time to go. Timmy holds up a finger. "One minute, mooom!"

"So let’s talk schedule. I can use my dad’s frequent flyer miles to visit you during Yom Kippur break--"

"Tim, wait. What I was gonna say was, um, I got a lot of commitments coming up. Fall soccer, lacrosse, baseball, spring soccer." Timmy just blinks up at him. Nothing is computing.

"Also, I just think we’re really different. You’re like... um, really dramatic and like, weird? Maybe we should take a break…"

_What?_

"But... but I love you." Timmy's voice breaks. It doesn't make any sense.

_Who is this Armie that I'm talking to? What happened to us?_

Timmy says, barely a whisper, "I put it in my mouth."

Just then Janice walks over to him, scowling. "What’s going on? Time to go. I’m not going to just wait around like I’m your chauffeur, Mr. Chalamet"

"Mother, hold on. Conversation in progress."

Armke seizes his chance."That’s okay, I gotta go."

Timmy turns back to Armie and starts squeezing his precious arm. "No, no. You don’t gotta go. SHE gotta go." He says.

"You’re a great kid, Tim. Take care." He walks away.

Timmy just stands there, stunned. "What? What is he talking about--"

_18\. You're only 18, Armie. Don't call me "kid". You didn't call me kid when I was choking on your-_

"I’m not a kid. WE’RE LIKE THE SAME FUCKING AGE, YOU DICK!"

Timmy tries again, breathless from shouting and he is confused. So fucking confused.

"Armie, please" He manages to squeak out but it's too quiet for anybody to even hear. He feels like he's drowning. He just stands there a moment, that sharp familiar aching in his throat and face burning. He looks over. Janice is staring at him and he has to clench his fists to avoid punching her.

"Did you have sex with that boy?"

"What? No!"

Janice starts to pull Timmy away. "Well, I hope you got this whole thing out of your system. I never got to do things like this as a kid, in the summers I worked, in a shoe store, touching feet. This was your father’s gift to you because he feels guilty about leaving us for that whore, but next year, it’s all about Model UN."

They walk towards the car, passing the Hammers on their way, happily ensconced with Armie. Mr. and Mrs. Hammer wave goodbye. Timmy waves wanly, looking at them with longing. He doesn't even feel angry. He just wonders what it would be like to have two parents fuss over you like that.

Janice pays them no mind. "We need to think about your future. Your real future. I made a lot of sacrifices for you and it wasn’t for all this baloney, you know-"

Janice continues but it is all just white noise because it finally happened. That feeling came back - the darkness. Timmy thought it would arrive gradually, the numbness, the heavy limbs, but it came back almost immediately. Just like mom and her incessant complaining. Just like talks about your future and that _whore_ dad left us for.

All of it was always going to come back. He just hoped he could in fantasy for a bit longer. Just a little bit longer, please.

**New York. 8 years later. Timothée's condo.**

Tired, staring into space, Timmy slumps in his unwashed sheets. It sticks to his body but he's decided he doesn't care because there is too much else to think about. Always too much.

Janice’s voice continues.

"...anyway, did you win the Corcoran case? You want that promotion, it's very important, it's what we've been working so hard for. I’ve said that a MILLION times…"

He sighs. Heard it all before. The phone is just left on loudspeaker on Timmy's nightstand. Next to it is a vibrator, an empty bottle of dessert wine, and a row of prescription meds.

"...but I guess you don't care what I think. I'm sure you told your father and the WHORE at Tucker's 7th birthday party, anyway, I gotta go. Today the dermatologist is telling me if it’s cancer. Bye."

She hangs up immediately.

Timmy had just woken up in his lonely, pre-furnished condo. It's really just one big room of nothing. No curtains, no wall coverings, no one bothered. On the bed is a pile of old clothes bunched up where a person might go and Timmy's laptop opened up on a dating site. His profile picture shows him with a stupid big smile on his face.

His bed is set against the huge window which covers an entire wall. You can see the whole city from here. Not that Timmy cares. He lives there. Always sees it.

Everything is grey. The bed, the shirt he's been wearing for 3 days, the walls, even the city is covered in complimentary, factory-esque misery.

The TV crackles in the background. A butter commercial is playing and a pair of hands hold a bagel, loaded with creamy butter. Behind the bagel, is a dreamy blue sky. It's almost mocking him.

_"Silky ribbons of butter with only 90 calories an ounce…"_

A giant knife spreads butter on another bagel.

_"What are you waiting for? Spread it...Indulge... Ask yourself…"_

Then the words appear in a bold yellow on the TV screen.

**"When was the last time you were truly happy?"**

At that, Timmy just turns his head to the side like a dog hearing a funny noise.

What a stupid commercial.

Later that day, Timothée had been walking through the office halls in search of a printer when a co-worker stops him in his tracks. Alice is holding her hands out in fists, shaking almost, as if she can't contain something. She also wears a suspiciously large smile on her face.

Timmy looks at her confused. "What is it? What's wrong? Am I doing something?"

"No, no. It's a good thing, Tim! A very good thing! I shouldn't say really, but- oh, to Hell with it." She's making jazz hands now. Lord. "You're getting promoted!"

Timmy just continues to stare at her, dumbfounded. The weirdest part is not the fact that he's getting promoted - he's very good at his job, he knows this - it's that he isn't in the slightest bit phased by any of it. For the longest time, he's felt so numb and was just getting by but _now_ something exciting is happening. This is a happy moment. Happy, happy, happy. _Why do I feel empty?_ Promotion! Your mother will be so proud. Happy, happy, happy. _Maybe if I lie enough to myself, it'll come true._

"Uh-what? Now?! Nobody told me."

"Laura wants to see you right now. She's gonna offer you the position of Junior Partner, Tim! Can you believe it?"

He has to remember to hold himself upright at this moment because he's sure he's going to collapse. Did he even eat today? He suddenly feels nauseous and the room is getting smaller. Timmy leans against a desk and lowers his head, just trying to breathe. Right under his nose lies a bright blue pamphlet with the words "When was the last time you were truly happy?" written on them. Suddenly encountering that cursed butter commercial would be a funny coincidence if not for the fact that Timmy is currently hyperventilating in his office for not being happy enough. He looks up and sees Alice with a look of concern on her face. She's mouthing something: T-im-o-thée?

Right. _My name._

_I need to get out of here._

"I'm- I'm just gonna-" Timmy starts walking away backwards and is clumsily pointing his right thumb towards the door.

"I didn't get breakfast-I'm just gonna- the deli on broadway-I'm--" He's almost jogging now, still pointing towards the exit as if it wasn't clear enough.

He's chanting " happy happy happy" as he makes his way outside and yet is completely panicking when he ends up on the busy streets. People are walking in large crowds all around him and it feels so overwhelming. Too many cars. Too much light. Too much noise.

He decided to run off into an alleyway where he can at least try to get his breathing under control. Using the brick walls to keep himself upright, Timmy reaches into his pocket to retrieve his meds and they are so fucking hard to get open. The bottle says "break open in case of emergency". _Well, I'm in an emergency and you won't fucking budge, dammit!_ He is ruthlessly slamming the bottle against the wall now.

"COME ON YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT!"

He smashes it over and over until eventually his precious pills come tumbling out. They roll everywhere, most of them ending up in the road.

"FUCK."

_Happy happy happy._

Fine. He tries something else. Timmy's legs give out from exhaustion but he also decides that maybe crouching is more dignified than lying on the floor, even if that's the only thing he wants right now. He scrunches his eyes closed and holds his hands in a prayer position.

"Dear God…I don't pray to you because I believe in science but I don't know what to do. Give me guidance. Please." He really doesn't know what else to do. Oh, then he remembers.

"Ah-men." Wait, no. "Amen? He settles on his first choice. "Ah-men."

Timmy suddenly becomes aware of the outside world again and he and looks out into the busy streets. His eyes wander every little nook and cranny just to keep himself distracted from this messy situation.

_Focus on the people passing by. Try to count the cars. Look at the buildings. Just billboards mostly. Just billboards and- oh my God (I'm sorry, My Lord) that fucking butter company again._

"What a weird ad campaign…" He sighs.

Just as he's studying the hideous yellow font, he notices a warm light emitting from the streets below. He doesn't know if it's even real or something he created out of thin air, but there is someone familiar rounding the corner. He's in all black with a jacket wrapped around his waist. He is also laughing at something on his phone and the way his face lights up, sparkling white canines on display, ignites something deep and intense within Timmy. He can't remember the last time he felt so starstruck or anything at all, really.

Armie Fucking Hammer was walking the streets of New York whilst Timmy was hyperventilating in an alleyway and he still looked just as radiant as the first time they met. It surprises Timmy how much he forgot about summer camp until now. It had been locked away for so long because it hurt. It hurt to know that life doesn't care for love. You lose love and life goes on. It's not a movie, time doesn't stop because you want to be sad for a while. And Timmy had nobody to talk to about that summer. Not that he really wanted to tell anybody but maybe he could have used some help during those nights when he woke up in a cold sweat chanting Armie's name.

So it just got locked away. Locked away and forgotten. He could go back and pretend but that would cut him way too deeply. He learned to accept that happiness wasn't made for him and that was easier than blaming the man he never stopped loving.

Timmy eventually stops staring and realizes that if he doesn’t do something right now, Armie will get away and we can’t let that happen can we?

He hurries over, crossing the busy street, barely even looking for oncoming traffic and he really cannot believe this is happening. Grown-up Armie looks so friendly and laid back and he is kind of resentful that he can do that and not look like a loser with his jacket wrapped around his waist. Everyone here is suited up and yet here Armie is going for a casual stroll. Maybe he really is a loser. _But, he was my loser._ Timmy even finds himself feeling too dressed up because, well, Armie has that effect on him.

Timmy taps him on the shoulder and Armie finally turns around.

"Timothée? Timothée Chalamet! Oh my God!" And the huge smile that greets Timmy is already too much. _He's happy. He's happy because of me._

"Armie Hammer appearing out of nowhere! This is so weird, right?"

"Wow." Armie sighs happily. He pauses and just takes in the view. Then he continues, "You know I'd always hoped I'd run into you one day. We had such a great time that summer."

 _Oh. We're going there already?_ Timmy thought. He hoped this would be one of those "I know that you know that I know what we're thinking but let's just pretend we're not thinking it" moments.

Armie examines the look on Timmy's face before adding, "You probably don't even remember it. It's been so long."

Oh, if only you knew. He decides to joke about it instead.

"I remember some…" He pretends to be thinking really hard. "All of it. I remember all of it, yeah. I mean, of course I do, Armie!"

Just saying his name was doing something to Timmy. It didn't feel real and he was feeling drunk on the emotion of it all. They beam at each other and somehow end up in a coffee shop downtown.

* * *

Timothée fires off an email at the speed of light, thumbs flying. "Oh yeah, yeah. I'm just telling my assistant to chill out. It's like I’ll get there when I get there, you know?"

On his phone, the message he is typing reads:

**I'M SO SRRY!!! I'M RACING OVER RIGHT NOW, I SWEAR!!!**

He shoves his phone (now on vibrate) in his back pocket and looks up at Armie. God, he would be lying to say he isn't completely falling for him again. Armie's muscles are much more defined than they were 8 years ago and Timmy can see the chest hair peeking out from under his shirt. He just wants to pounce on him but he has to be a normal person and say normal person things.

"So great to see you. How are you? How are your parents? They were so adorable."

"Yeah, they're pretty much the same. How's your mom?"

"She's still awful, to be honest. Might have cancer…" He shrugs. "So you live in New York?" Just then, his phone vibrates. He puts it on silent.

"Yeah. Have been for the last year or so."

"Wow, we could have, like, totally been hanging out right now."

"Yeah, we totally could’ve been."

Timmy tries his luck because he's already been acting up enough today that this seems like the most logical thing so far.

"So…let’s carpe that diem. The firm gave me tickets to the premiere of Rigoletto on Thursday--"

"Oh, man, I love plays but I’m... this is kinda weird, I’m actually moving, like, this week."

"New apartment...cool." Timmy can see his phone lighting up in his pocket.

"No, I mean- I'm actually moving. Back home."

Shit.

"Yeah, I have been trying to make it work here in the Big Apple and it’s been so tough, then one day I realized, why get stuck in a rat race. I mean, what’s the point, right?"

At this point, Timmy's phone is going crazy and practically putting on a disco so he turns his phone off entirely.

"Sorry, ignore that. You were saying?"

"Thing is, it’s so awesome back home. So chill, so relaxed. Out there, everyone is like... I don’t know, it’s like they’re…" Armie looks up into space in search of the right word. "Happy."

The word dances off of the walls and reverberates in Timmy's mind. It's like bells are ringing and a choir is singing "happy happy happy." But this time, it's for real.

"Happy…" He whispers lightly in response. "Where are you from again?"

"West Covina, California, 91791" Armie chuckled. "Home sweet home. It's also where Mom and Dad's hotel is. Being in New York made it hard to see it all that often."

Armie had been the child of incredibly successful business partners who gave him everything he could ever want. People hated that he was born with it all and it made him want to prove himself. He didn't want to rely on his parents' money and didn't want to be that guy who never works a day in his life. So, he moved to New York to build his own career. Unfortunately, it became too much too fast and he wanted to get away for a while. He actually figured that, maybe, living life casually wasn't so bad after all. “West Covina. I remember that. It’s near the beach, right?”

“Yeah, only two hours. Four in traffic. Psyched to just kick back, grab a beer with the guys. Haven’t seen them in so long…”

He trails off. Timmy notices something change in his eye - something intense and impossible to look away from. Armie is now smirking.

“Man, if only I’d known you’d turn out to be so successful and hot.. . Let a good one get away, huh?”

Despite Armie basically licking his ass, Timmy senses hesitation from him. Armie rubs his neck and looks up at him coyly. He has basically stolen Timmy’s breath away because his throat has gone dry and he can’t even form words with his mouth anymore. The air around him feels different and Tiimmy hopes he is subtle when he steals a glance downwards at his own crotch, just to check that the old boy is behaving.

He shifts in his seat and says, “I had a great time that summer.”

“Yeah, I was so... what’s the word…” They are smiling at each other. And just then Timmy hears a pounding so he immediately looks up.

His assistant is standing in the coffee shop window, frantic and gesturing. LET’S GO, GOTTA GO!

Timmy's face heats up and he is desperately grabbing his coat. “All right, I guess I gotta go, but let’s get a drink one night.”

Armie quickly replies with “Yeah!” Then he realizes. “Oh, wait, I’m moving.” He sees the way Timmy freezes up and stops putting on his coat. They had both been getting carried away.

“But if you ever get out West, look me up, okay? Here’s my number.” Armie says. He grabs Timmy’s phone and types it in. Their hands brush gently and Timmy thinks he might as well combust here and now.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that... that would be great.” He stands up, smiles at Armie down below, and then waves goodbye. Timmy is now on the streets of New York again but he’s not. In his head, he’s picturing palm trees and warm sand, skateboards, and sun. The world seems to have changed. Everything is so much brighter now that Armie is here. Maybe he’s well and truly lost his shit but after that glorious chance encounter, who gives a damn?

Timmy eventually makes it back into his office and he is now seated at a large conference table, the Senior Partner, Laura is smiling at him.

“You are the hardest working young lawyer we’ve ever seen. You work 24/7, have never taken a sick day. We know this job is your whole world.” Laura takes a deep breath. Timmy hates the dramatization of the whole thing. _Just tell me what I’m doing here so I can get the hell out and run towards the hills._ “These are just some of the reasons we’d like to offer you the position of... Junior Partner.”

Ugh. He didn’t even have time to rehearse his reaction. Well, here we go.

Timmy grins at the Senior Partner, shakes his head, sighs, cracks his knuckles even. He fakes contemplation. “Laura, you are so kind. Thank you.” Everybody around the table smiles.

But Timmy isn’t done here.

He continues, “You know what though? I just think that time is such a funny thing...Sometimes time itself tells you it’s time to move on to other moments in time…” He starts twirling around the conference room on his office chair, rolling around and making animated hand gestures.

“And when that time arrives you can’t really predict it or explain it, you just have to obey the ticking clock that is destiny. And I think- I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that I think this is that time.”

There is a pause and everybody is staring blankly at him.

“What?”

Someone pipes up.

“Another opportunity has knocked on my door, so I respectfully decline, I’m so sorry.”

Another partner speaks up, “Is it another firm?”

Timmy is already getting up and rushing towards the door. “It’s best if we don’t talk about it. Goodbye!”

“Wait, just tell me. Is it Cromwell?” Laura asks.

“No, it’s not in New York.”

“Boston? Chicago?”

“No, Laura.” He puts his hand on his face, beatific, resolved. He whispers delightfully, “It’s where dreams live.” Yes, it’s cheesy but maybe Timmy likes cheesy now.

With that, he runs down the office stairs because fuck the elevator - that’s something the old Timmy would do, and now he’s running out of the firm with a bright smile plastered on his face.

Back in the conference room, all that can be heard is “The fuck?”

Timmy is skipping down the street, singing “West Covinnaaaa, Califorrrniaaa!!!” He actually welcomes the stares in his direction and thinks that he might as well put on a show. He tosses his jacket to the floor as he goes and starts thinking that maybe he'll start keeping potted plants and eating home-cooked meals. He could wake up in the mornings and not in the afternoon and oh my God, he's going to start browsing new apartments right now. Thank you New York, it's been - _wait who am I kidding, it's been horrible?_

He laughs out loud. Doesn't care who sees.

_Armie Hammer, here I come._


	2. Armie Just Happens to Live Here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need you to remember that Timmy is not mentally stable and this is tagged "Bad Decisions" for a reason...

Timothée’s new apartment could be described as tacky, to say the least - if it was compared to his old home. It was still very spacious, with a living room and kitchen combo where the kitchen is only separated by a square archway and a little dining table which stood proudly against some yellow accent wall.

Timmy's first words upon entering the place were in fact just the word "yellow!" said almost like a squeak, and he thought that said enough about how he felt. The moving guys just nodded at their satisfied little customer.

Then there was the set of white stairs, just next to the living room, which spiraled to lead you to two bedrooms and a bathroom above. He was surprised by how comfortable he already was - everything in West Covina was so warm and Timmy felt held by the place. At this point in time, there was no trace of doubt about the whole thing.

This was good. A change, finally. Even if Janice begged to differ.

Like a puppy waiting for its owner to return, Timmy paced idly around his living room clad in oversized pajamas - well, it’s a hoodie and sweatpants but who’s asking? He looks about fifteen years old on a good day.

There is a noise coming from the depths of his couch, muffled by layers of cushions.

“Are you kidding me, Timothée Hal Chalamet?! YOU ARE RUINING YOUR OWN LIFE! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU, TIM! I JUST CAN’T!” The muffled screams emitting from his phone have been non-stop and he hasn’t even said a word.

“YOU COME BACK, TIMOTHÉE! DO YOU HEAR ME? I’VE DONE NOTHING BUT HELP YOU GET A GOOD CAREER, AND YOU ARE COMING BACK RIGHT NOW!”

There is a pause and he thinks that maybe Janice has finally given up. But then there is a sharp intake of breath and her voice turns to ice-cold venom,

“I hope this isn’t another stunt like your little “suicide attempt” in law school, you didn’t even break your skin and you inconvenienced a lot of people, your Aunt Nancy was...”

Final straw.

Timmy finally lets up and grabs his phone, puts it on silent, and sighs in contentment. He sinks back into his couch and is immediately absorbed by the fuzzy material. Life truly is good.

Earlier that day, he had taken all his pill bottles and emptied them into the disposal, grinding them to bits. The thing about Timmy was that happiness didn’t come to him easily but right now, he was on top of the world. All those pills would only numb him and he had made a silent promise to never feel that way again.

Timothée straightens up and takes his phone into his hands again. He scrolls through his contacts and sees the new name “Armie” pop up. His thumbs start doing a little indecisive dance above his name. _Yes. Maybe. No. I can’t. Ok. I will. Wait, no, I’m not really-_

Fuck it. He taps Armie’s name and it opens up the messaging screen. He starts to type out the message on a whim, just a little draft that he can edit as he goes.

 **Hey dude!** Gross. He’s absolutely disgusted with himself.

 **Remember when you said if I was ever in SoCal, I should give you a buzz? Well… Buzz!** Timmy says “bee emoji” out loud as he presses it and he might actually die of cringe this time. He’ll delete that part.

 **Anyways, was thinking we could grab dinner.** Nope. Too formal.

He deletes **dinner** and tries **lunch.** No.

 **Breakfast?** Nah.

**Coffee?**

He scoffs and mutters to himself, “You don’t even like coffee, man.”

He settles for,

 **Was thinking we could grab whatever…** Not perfect but he didn’t want to sound like it was a big deal.

**Anyways, give me a shout. Can’t wait!**

That should do it. He presses send before he remembers that he forgot to delete that stupid “Buzz!” line. Not even a day in and he’s already fucked up.

Later, he is brushing his teeth when he hears a ping sound. He runs out of the bathroom, throwing his electric toothbrush a little too forcefully, and rushes to grab his phone. The message reads,

**NEW DATA USAGE PLAN! SAVE 3$/MONTH TEXT YES FOR MORE INFO!**

Dammit. He slumps down on the couch.

Timmy ends up falling asleep right there and then because this day has been so exhilarating and new that now he just needs to recharge.

By the morning, his phone is once again buried under couch cushions and the first thing Timmy does is start scrambling to retrieve it, if only he knew where it was. He is struggling for a while until he finally locates it. He presses the screen.

No new messages.

Timmy is starting to lose his newfound hope.

* * *

It’s still pretty early in the morning when Darryl and Timothée make their way down the hallway of the Whitefeather Law Office.

He decided that he would put a little more effort into his appearance than usual because, you never know, Armie could be lurking around any one of these street corners. That morning, he had brushed his hair even more thoroughly, even going over some of the curls that had gone loose and applying some curl cream, then he decided to tame the eyebrows that had gone wild over the years, but not enough that they lost character. He also shaved his face, used a dash of spot cream, and pulled out his best shoes: black Louboutin suede boots.

He would be so annoyed if all of his efforts went to waste today.

Darryl is still reminding Timmy of a teddy bear every time he looks at him. He wonders if there is something intoxicating in the West Covina air that makes you extra sappy. The people just look so interesting here, so diverse and Timmy would love to get to know every single one of them.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I handed out copies of your resume.”

On a normal day, this would infuriate Timmy but he is actually thankful because it at least lets him avoid all the awkward introductions.

Timmy finally looks around at the big open office space and cannot help but notice how he is being stared at like a prize pig at a fair.

He decides to just change the subject, plus he really needs to know what is taking Armie so long. “Hey, I have a question. Is there a problem with cell phone service in West Covina? Like some kind of mountains or... magnetic clouds?”

“Not that I’m aware of. We’ve got pretty good service actually...it’s da bomb…”

Timmy just stares at his boss in awe.

“Sorry, I’ve got kids.”

He nods. Doesn’t know what else to do. Darryl just continues walking.

He turns his head back briefly in Timmy’s direction just to say “But I am divorced.”

Timmy blinks, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Darryl sounds overly touched. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Okay. We don’t have to.”

“It’s been very painful”

“Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Overly pleased once again.

This is not what Timmy signed up for and yet he is fascinated by how nonchalant it all is. Not just Darryl but everybody. The office is bustling with noise, lawyers, assistants, managers, all caught up in their own conversations. Timmy isn’t even sure if they’re discussing work. He swears he just saw a cat in the distance in the shabby little Whitefeather kitchen and he definitely can’t be making that up. _It even meowed,_ for Christ’s sake. New York has nothing on this.

An assistant comes over with a clipboard, hands it to Darryl and he hands it right over to Timothée. “Just a few things for you to sign. Make it official. Sign your life away.”

“That’s what being a lawyer is, right?”

“Or being married.”

“Aww…”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Anyway, you’re from New York, huh? Spent a little time there myself.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, a week after college with my buddies. They still have that great pizza place?” Here he goes again.

“There’s a few…”

“Thin crust, the sauce, then they put the tomato on and the cheese, sort of...garlic-like…”

Timmy nods and just says, “That’s pizza.” as if that solves anything.

Darryl ends up taking him on a tour around the office, greeting all different kinds of people on his way.

Ace is a funny kind of guy, huge green glasses steamed up from drinking too much hot cocoa and mouth hanging open as he sits at his desk, looking through this so-called “Timothée Chalamet’s” resume. Ace’s cubicle is decorated with a mix of angry cubicle art, puppy and kitten photos, sexy vampires, and office-themed cartoons. “I don’t get it. You see this resume? Harvard, Yale, special skills: French? Mandarin? Did he get this out of a resume book? What the hell is he doing here?” Mrs. Hernandez is sitting behind him and she shakes her head and shrugs.

Timothée and Darryl arrive at Ace and Mrs. Hernandez’s cubicle. They stop. Darryl motions back and forth between the two.

“Timothée, this is Ace.”

Timmy reaches out to shake Ace’s hand. They are about the same height and from what Timothée can tell, the same age too. He examines Ace’s choice of a bright blue shirt, slacks, and a hideous green tie with palm trees patterned on it. He hopes this isn’t what he ends up resorting to.

“Oh great, hi! Are you my assistant? I’m totally useless with computers, I might need your help setting up.” Timmy says, smiling brightly.

Ace immediately pulls his hand away and glares at him. A fearfulness takes over Darryl’s face.

He gulps, “Actually, Ace is our head paralegal.”

_Goodbye cruel world._

“Oh I’m so sorry, really really sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Two years of training, six months of night school, 5 years of experience, but never mind, right!” Ace forces out a laugh and then looks Timmy up and down. “Wow, man! Those are some great _knockoff_ Louboutins!” The palm tree warrior says and exaggerates the French.

 _Was that meant to impress me?_ Timmy thinks.

“Oh, thanks! Actually, they’re real, but I got them on sale.”

“Lindsey Lohan wears those. She’s been to jail six times and has fake hair! Did you know that? _Everyone_ knows that. Right, Mrs. Hernandez?” Clearly Ace has been doing his homework. Alright. Mrs. Hernandez nods. “For sure.”

Darryl introduces them, “Oh, sorry, this is Mrs. Hernandez. She is our communications director.”

“Pleased to meet you.” He shakes hands with Mrs. Hernandez, who crushes his hand. They say their goodbyes and move on to other cubicles. Timmy swears he can hear Ace mocking him in the distance.

He is pitching his voice up, “They’re real, got them on sale!!!” Then he is muttering, “Who is this guy?”

Timmy could lie to himself and say that it’s too early to tell, but Ace might have to go on some kind of watchlist, just in case he turns out to want Timmy’s blood too.

Hopefully not. Maybe Ace just gets off to misery.

He lets this idea settle in his mind but it’s when Timmy is left waiting in Darryl’s office for him to retrieve some more paperwork that he sees Armie is active on Instagram. A few minutes later and Armie posts a picture of him looking very happy at a sports bar, just a block away.

Timmy is suddenly on alert as if Armie will come bursting through the office doors any minute now. He’s just so close and it’s killing him that he has to listen to Darryl talk about his divorce and constantly feel Ace’s sharp eyes on the back of his skull.

He’s desperately conjuring up ways to make his escape when,

“Timmy-o!” Darryl’s booming voice echoes. “How’s it going, my friend?” He is tumbling through the door again, arms open wide.

“Oh, good. Nothing much, really. Just-”

"That’s great.” Darryl interrupts and strides over to where Timmy is sitting. “Look, can you just sign a few more of these for me, please? Most of us are going on a break right now, would you like to join us?”

Timmy grabs the sheets from his hand, shakes his head, and says, “I was planning on meeting a friend actually.”

“Aww, that’s okay, Timmy Tim. Have a good time!” Darryl responds and Timothee really can’t tell if the nickname makes him want to eat glass or eat his own foot but he can’t even be mad. He fakes a smile and clicks open his pen.

After signing a few more pages, he rushes out of the firm and heads straight for the sports bar. He passes the mall, the Mexican restaurant he wouldn’t mind checking out, and a strip club. He’s been practically running by the time he reaches the bar and has to lean against the wall to catch his breath first.

“The lengths I go for this guy...” He sighs to himself, before finally opening the door.

Timmy is immediately taken aback by the crowds of boisterous, bustling men, holding up beers and laughing about nothing. Most of them are beer-bellied, middle-aged and hairy. Their voices combine to form a low, aggressive hum and Timmy can feel it vibrating in his chest.

There is even the faint boom of music coming from somewhere in the room - if you listen really closely, you might even hear the lyrics.

God, he really isn’t used to this kind of thing but at least Armie isn’t hard to spot in a crowd.

Hopefully.

He tentatively crosses over to the middle of the room, pauses, and scopes out the place before dragging his feet around the circumference of the bar. In all his life he’s never tried so hard to make aimlessly wandering around look as casual as possible.

He proceeds to pull out his phone (because ugh, kids these days) only to open the calculator and pretend to look occupied. If Armie sees him absorbed in his phone, he really won’t look like so much of a creep, right?

_Yes. That’s right. Strike a pose. Lean against the wall. I’m cool and casual. So casual for you, Armie. If only you could see how unbothered I am, then you’d know you want me._

He’s been leaning against a brick wall in the corner for a good few minutes now - is starting to give up when,

“You alright there?” A voice calls out.

Timmy’s head bolts up immediately. It’s not a familiar voice but it sounded like it was definitely directed at him. He already feels so out of place that he’s sure somebody would pick up on it eventually. He’s turning his head, can’t find the source of the voice.

Then, he notices a guy behind the counter, wiping up a glass. He’s looking very concerned and reminds Timmy of a golden retriever.

Timmy hesitantly makes his way forward towards the bar and starts fiddling with his suit. He doesn’t know what to say. What would somebody around here say?

He gulps.“Yeah, just- just here for some baseball.” He says softly, refusing to make eye contact.

“Are you lost?” The guy says and _oh God, he sees right through me._ “You know, the wine bar’s over on Foothill.”

Timmy is unsure if he should take that as a compliment or not so he decides not to pay much attention to this guy - he’s getting distracted. What if Armie sees him like this?

“What can I get you?” The guy says, adjusting his apron.

Timmy’s eyes are still roaming around the bar as the bartender speaks because he’s accepted staying alert at all times from now on. Armie has to be here somewhere.

“Beer. Any kind.”

The bartender grabs a bottle from somewhere below the counter and hands it to Timmy who sits on a stool just in front of the bar. He keeps his eyes on Timothee for a while, something indescribable behind them, like there’s a fire - not sure if it wants to keep you warm or set you alight.

“You from around here? Never really seen you before.” He says finally, much to Timmy’s annoyance.

“I actually just moved to town from New York.”

Bar Guy actually looks impressed for a second.

“Seriously? I love New York! So, what brings you here?”

“Work...and, uh- I’m actually meeting a friend but...I don’t see him…” Timmy trails off and his eyes are shifting nervously. He bites down on his lip.

“What’s his name? I might know him. Is he eight years old or an alcoholic? ‘Cause, that’s all we’ve got here.”

Timothée is on a completely different planet. He’s turning his neck, like an owl, just to make sure _he’s_ not in the booths behind them right now.

“You’re a good listener…” Bar Guy says with a glint in his eye.

Timmy returns to Earth, “Hmm?”

“Exactly.” He laughs, then grabs a towel and starts wiping down the counters. “You know, a buddy of mine just moved back from New York. A guy I grew up with.”

Timmy takes a sip of beer, suddenly fully focused on the stranger, “Really? What’s his name? I might know him.” He chances.

“Uhh, it’s Armie. Armie Hammer.”

BINGO.

Timmy goes full sprinkler-mode and starts spitting out his beer, nearly chokes to death.

“Oh!” He splutters, “I mean…I know him, yeah! Are you kidding?! ”

Bartender is laughing hysterically now, “No, I’m serious! He was literally JUST here. You JUST missed him. Look, that’s his beer over there!”

He points towards the complete other side of the bar, completely amused about the whole affair, not in the slightest bit picking up on Timmy’s utter disappointment and frustration because he never fucking _looked_ at that side of the bar.

Clearing his throat in order to dull the sensation of his heart sinking, he tries to maintain some kind of composure. Bar Guy has stopped laughing now and is instead searching Timmy’s face, probably for some kind of backstory. Under his watchful eye, Timmy feels inclined to explain himself, prove his innocence. Instead, he just rambles, rambles, rambles.

“Yeah, it’s actually a funny story. I was living in New York, looking to relocate to Los Angeles, love the beach and the sun, run into Hammer, he tells me how GREAT West Covina is, I file it away... then, boom, THAT SAME DAY, I get a random call about a house swap! Here! Crazy, right? Felt like a sign, man. Truly, it did.”

He smiles cheekily, happy with how bullshit that sounded after voicing it out loud for the second time that day. He hopes he sounds confident and like the kind of person to make these kinds of spontaneous decisions, and _not_ like he’s losing control of his life because...well, because he’s not. Yeah. The former sounds so much better, anyway.

“Wait, so you left a job in New York to live near the beach?”

Timmy nods - lowers his eyes.

“We’re four hours from the beach. People say two but those people are idiots.”

“Yes...well...this place is just so great. Your town motto is live, work, play right?”

“We have a town motto?”

“It was on the website.”

“We have a website?”

“Yes. Takes a while to load but is very informative.”

“Right…”

Timmy’s had enough of this.

“Look, I’m sorry for being so persistent but, do you know where he went by any chance?”

“No. I’m sorry, man.”

All Timothée can do is nod - nod because if he really let himself, he would flip a fucking table.

Bar guy puts the towel he’s been gripping onto down and one hand on his hip. He looks Timmy up and down, purses his lips as if trying to come to a decision.

He speaks up, voice kind of struggling to get out, “...but I do know where he’s gonna be tonight, funnily enough.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, we’re going to this party tonight. Guy called Beans. He’s Mexican. It sounds racist but it’s not - he makes us call him that - ANYWAY! It should be fun. What do you say?”

“Great! What’s the address?”

That’s when he starts rubbing his neck.“Well, uh- actually I was- hoping maybe, we could like, go together?”

_Oh._

Timmy weighs out the pros and cons here. On one hand, he gets to see Armie in a house party setting, drunk, music blasting, people flirting and they could end up in a very compromising position. On the other, he could have Bar Guy on his ass all night, giving Armie the completely wrong idea.

The thing is, he made the choice to be here and if that means going on a little “date” with Armie’s friend, then that’s just what he’ll have to do. He asks, “So you’ll pick me up?”

“Uh-huh, like a date. Because you look pretty…”

Timmy has once again drifted off to another world. He is staring out of a window, eyes glazed over, and a slight smirk on his face.

 _Armie. Party. Dance._ He does a little shimmy with his shoulders.

“And you’re ignoring me…”

_Armie. Party. Dance._

“So you’re obviously my type...”

Timmy’s little jingle stops, “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Perfect.” Bartender smiles, they exchange numbers and he ends up leaving the bar with plans for tonight, something he never anticipated. He looks down at his new contact:

Daniel Howard. It’s a date.

* * *

Break time is nearly over when a very happy Timothée Chalamet struts back into the Whitefeather Law Office, probably hearing the resonant sounds of _“Gimme, Gimme, Gimme”_ by Abba playing in his head.

His current thought process is that Daniel is nice but Daniel is not _Armie._

That doesn’t seem to matter much to him though because he continues striding into the kitchen.

There, he reaches up into one of the cupboards in search of some kind of tea, something to drink in a mug that says:

_Yes. I drink Chai and Earl Grey all the time, even when nobody's looking. Thank you very much._

For some reason, there are a series of uncomfortable tingles dancing on his spine as soon as he starts to heat the water up - a slight shift of something in the air. Like a...ghost, or maybe it was that damn _cat_ from earlier. No, it’s definitely something haunting, something evil, something that’s out to get him. He turns around and...

Oh.

It’s just Ace.

Oh. It’s _Ace._

Ace narrows his eyes.“You look happy.” He says with arms folded flatly across his chest. An observationalist, indeed.

He’s also breathing just centimeters away from Timmy, probably expecting an X to mark the spot where all of his secrets lie.

“Yeah.” Timmy sighs happily. “Do you ever just, like, have a _really_ good day?” He asks, and in one smooth motion, slips away from Ace’s invisible hold to set his mug down somewhere.

The question was intended to be rhetorical yet Ace seems to be thinking, really really thinking about it, like he’s trying to activate the deepest parts of his consciousness. “No.”

Timmy snorts.

He can’t even come up with a response before Ace is shooting him with a look again. “Are you stoned?”

Not that he is aware of.

Currently focused on pouring water into a mug, “Just high on life.” Timmy shrugs.

Then he looks up, finds Ace still pointing daggers with his lizard eyes, and maybe, just maybe, it’ll be fun to mess with this guy - kill ‘em with kindness, or whatever.

He challenges Ace’s stare and lets a huge gummy smile stretch across his face, just to really piss him off. It seems to do the trick because Ace averts his eyes and sighs.

It really is quite funny seeing the pain evident on Ace’s face and Timmy tries - really, really tries - to resist feeling honored that his own mere presence has enough power to give someone such a hard time.

But God is it an ego boost and now he has to suppress the urge to laugh out loud.

“So what brings you to the lovely town of West Covina, Timothée Chalamet?”

“Just looking for change!” Timmy shimmies from the counter to the trash and back to the counter again, throwing away his teabag.

Ace is leaning against the fridge, studying Timmy like snake studies mouse.

“No friends, no family? Intriguing, indeed.”

“Nope, don’t know a soul, just came for the job. What about you? Are you a California native?”

“Hell, no. Grew up in Buffalo, so did my husband Artie. We’re from a real place, with weather and depression.”

“Sounds like a wonderful place.” Timmy smiles and adds some sugar to his tea.

Ace moves off of the fridge like he’s bored with the whole thing, refusing to buy into any more of Timmy’s bullshit.

“Alright, stop! Stop this whole thing right now, Chalamet.” He makes a gesture with his hands, indicating ALL of Timmy like he’s casting some sort of spell. “Something’s off about this… It’s gonna kill me until I know what it is. It’s like... when you can’t remember the name of the actor in a movie or TV show or whatever.”

“You can google it.”

“That’s not the point, dude! It’s a metaphor, follow along.” _Not really, but nevermind._

It’s then that Timmy realizes exactly what is getting Ace so worked up: they’re the same age yet here he is married and working a shitty office job, probably not by a whole lot of choice - probably not because he made the decision on a whim like Chalamet.

He sees Timmy with his Harvard background, shiny new Louboutins, and a smile on his face, strutting into his office and he is clearly envious of that youthful energy - that juvenile spirit that he missed out on or some part of him wishes he could get back.

And Timmy probably didn’t help very much by accidentally calling Ace his “assistant”.

Once Timmy realizes this, he starts to sympathize with the guy. It’s no longer about Ace hating Timmy - it’s about his own insecurities.

“Well, ok. You can have fun trying to suss me out, go hunting for treasure, whatever tickles your fancy but it’s really not as glamorous or interesting as you think.”

He hopes that’ll put Ace off a little with his obsessive and persistent digging.

Timmy grabs his mug and marches out of the kitchen, no longer bothered with Ace, just counting down the hours until _Armie_ and _Party_ and _Dance._

* * *

**Beans’ house.**

Finally, the time has arrived.

They’ve made it to a huge LA mansion where big cheers and whoops erupt just as “Lady Marmalade” starts blasting and reverberating from every known room.

The crowd pulsates, moving as one big hoard of bodies and skin. It’s just heat - heat from all the noise, the touch, the marijuana smoke, and the glitter. It’s completely intoxicating. No room for thought. Just let the crowd take you.

Timothee is leaned up against a partition wall, a touch of glitter on his face, holding a beer and wearing something a little on the skimpy side: a black, long-sleeve open mesh top that has his chest on full display. It means he is freezing but it’s a sacrifice he’ll just have to make.

Most of the crowd has migrated to the center of the room: a big open space where people move to melt into one another. Daniel grabs Timmy’s hand and drags him into it. He is already a little tipsy and just lets himself be taken by the guy.

It’s not like he can do much else anyway as the pink and green fluorescent mist makes it hard to see even 3 meters ahead of you.

Armie could be absolutely anywhere right now.

Armie could be dancing with some _girl_ or some _guy_ who happen to be drunk and horny enough to jump into bed with him.

The thought is so incredibly painful that it punches away at his very core but Timmy decides to use the circumstances to his advantage.

He won’t let himself go hunting for Armie anymore. Let Armie find him. Like this. In somebody else's company.

Daniel is gripping on to Timmy’s waist, fingernails digging into the precious flesh and pulling him against his own chest. Timmy just holds both palms against Daniel’s torso and takes hold of the shirt in front of him.

The same song that hyped up the crowd initially is still playing and a predatory smirk creeps across Daniel’s face. He leans down to put his mouth next to Timmy’s ear.

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?” Daniel is singing along (some kind of attempt at sexiness) and then he's getting closer and closer to Timmy’s neck, clearly wanting to bite or suck at it.

Timmy cringes at the butchered French and (even worse) thinks, _does he even know what he's asking me right now?_ He rolls his eyes, glad that Daniel can’t see it, and feels Daniel’s hot drunken breath against his skin. Thankfully, Daniel seems to have changed his mind. He pulls back and starts to dance.

“You know it’s so weird. I haven’t seen Armie yet.” Timmy shouts over the music.

“What?” Daniel shouts back.

“Armie! Haven’t seen him!”

“Oh! Armie! Yeah! He’s gotta be around here somewhere!” Daniel keeps dancing, pumping his fists up into the air. “You know, you keep talking about him! What’s the deal with you guys anyway?”

“Oh...he’s just a friend!”

“Really? You haven’t stopped talking about him all night!”

That’s true. Absolutely cannot deny it. Timmy doesn’t know how else to make him shut up.

He lunges forward and presses his lips against Daniel’s, much to his surprise.

“Okay yeah, I’ll shut up about that!” Dan says in between kisses and he is practically melting under Timmy’s touch.

Poor, poor Daniel is so compliant for the same Timmy that is currently scanning the room, not even focused on how he’s working his tongue into the other’s mouth. Instead, he pictures Armie Hammer finding him amongst the crowd and the lights, kissing another guy and Armie, so overwhelmed with jealousy, falling apart at the sight of it.

They’ve been going at it for a good minute now. Nothing.

“Hey, you wanna go outside?” Timmy asks.

They end up by the pool, surrounded by so many others with the same idea.

More kissing.

Wow, Timmy really didn’t think this mesh top through.

“Actually I’m cold. Let’s go inside”

They end up in the den, Timmy splayed out on a couch. Daniel attacking his neck. Timmy is still searching.

Fucking nothing. _And I looked so good on this couch for you, Armie._

“I’m hungry. Wanna grab something?”

Kitchen now, perched on a countertop. Daniel loves his neck.

Nothing!

Now, with no Armie insight and a half-hard cock in his pants, it seems that beggars can’t be choosers.

“You wanna take this upstairs?”

They find a bedroom.

“This room work for you?” Daniel asks, pulling Timmy by the hand.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Is it okay that Armie isn’t here?” Daniel smirks.

“Yeah, it’s fine…”

They both sit on the edge of the bed. Daniel’s phone suddenly lights up. New message.

“Yo, speak of the devil!”

_Oh my God._

“Hammer just texted: Not gonna come tonight. His girlfriend’s making him go to her sister’s quinciñeara. Shame.” He chuckles. “Now where were we?” Daniel lifts a hand up to cup Timmy’s cheek.

A hand shoots up to grab his wrist.

“Wait…”

Timmy stares at him. The word “GIRLFRIEND” reverberates in his ears.

Girl. Friend.

Girlfriend.

Armie. Has. A. Girl. Friend.

Right then and there, the bottom of the world fell out.

The ground was suddenly not flat enough.

The walls weren’t wide enough.

Timmy drops his head in his hands and tries to breathe.

Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing will ever make sense anymore.

_**What is he doing here?** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no...


	3. Armie's Girlfriend is Really Cool!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some spontaneous encounters...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh crumpets, this took me way longer than expected. It also didn't help that I kept hearing "Tiny Horse" in my head whilst I finished up. I hope it's readable anyways ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ lmaooo

How could he of been so stupid? To think that moments ago Timmy was in the middle of the dancefloor, trying to look sexy for a guy he now knew was _taken…_

It had all become too much too quickly, the alcohol pumping through his veins, making him act out of desperation. Timmy was losing track of the time. How long had he been staring out into space whilst Daniel watched him freeze up almost immediately after the word “girlfriend” was said?

They were still sitting on a bed that belonged to someone else, in a house that was too big, because apparently, Timmy had somehow led this guy to believe he actually wanted to hook up with him. He couldn’t even think to remember why that was ever such a good idea in the first place.

“His Facebook said he was single…” was all Timmy said but the words seemed to melt away into thin air. The murmur of the crowd down below becoming more apparent in his ears as he gradually starts to regain his sense of time and place and…

 _Oh fucking hell._ This isn’t just a girl. This is a girlfriend we’re talking about here. A real, real person. Like more real than any dumb hypothetical situation Timmy had been putting himself in.

Sometimes, he would even play God. He’d tell himself that _“if I move to West Covina, Armie will have no choice but to fall for me”_ and he’d no doubt believe it to be true just because he wanted it badly enough.

And whilst the thought of Armie being with anyone other than him hurt, it was kind of funny to realise how obvious it would have been to just _check._ He scolded himself for it.

_You’re a lawyer, for fuck’s sake._

Well, apparently even lawyers need free advice.

Daniel breaks the silence with a frustrated sigh. He’s feeling impatient and quite frankly bored, “So we just gonna keep talking about Armie all night or-”

“No, no, no. I’ll stop. I promise. Just- how did they meet?”

Daniel sighs, “They dated on and off for years in high school, was a complete wreck if you ask me. Armie called us out of the blue one day. Hadn’t heard from him since he went away to New York. Eh, it’s whatever. He told us he was moving back home, though.” He shrugs, “To be with her, I guess.”

Boom.

A complete death blow. The final hoorah can be heard in the distance as Timmy’s heart dies out. Wonderful.

Okay, so it seems Armie might really love this chick.

Cool.

He’s happy for her - _for them_ \- so he says it.

“That’s nice. I’m so happy for them.” And he definitely _doesn’t_ start sniffling.

It’s then that Daniel decides this conversation is over and, _thank God,_ because the bulge in his pants might actually set alight from the way it’s chafing against his jeans. He leans in to catch Timmy’s mouth, reaching out with a hand to cup his jaw.

He’s hopeful as all heck because Timmy is gorgeous and he can’t be any more ready to-

“What type’s his girlfriend?” Timmy says suddenly.

Daniel groans because even when Armie’s not in the room, he somehow manages to cockblock him to no end. He withdraws his hand, sighs, and then gets up to make his way towards the bedroom door.

“Wait, where are you-”

“I’m going, Timmy. Whatever’s going on between you and Armie... I don’t know if you guys were like a thing? Or something? I don’t know. I just- I can’t do this.”

Timmy opens his mouth to speak but Daniel’s already storming out, muttering curses under his breath. He listens to his footsteps fade away, eventually just to become another one of the murmurs in the crowd, and then Timmy is left there, sat on the bed, thinking of Armie and wondering why the _fuck_ Lady Marmalade is still playing for the fourth time that night.

The backyard is scattered with drunken hipsters, all humping up against one another, smoking, laughing, probably talking about how much they love veganism or something and it’s just enough to make Timmy feel sick to his stomach.

He’s still floating about on that dizzy drunken feeling so he decides to mingle with a few randoms just for the fun of it, and it’s a good distraction from the heartbreak or... whatever. It’s just white noise. He’d much rather tune into the lyrical stylings of _Christina Aguilera._

It’s when he’s so drunk that he can't separate trees from people that he notices a particularly interesting Hawaiin shirt waving at him from across the yard.

He lazily rubs his eyes just to be sure but immediately stops dead in his tracks because…

Those hideous colours look all too familiar for his liking.

He slowly creeps past a few potheads that have passed out on the lawn and the stoner kids by the pool, to make his way over to the intruder.

The guy’s even dancing a little now if that’s what you could call it and as Timmy gets closer to the guy, he scrunches up his nose. The realization that this isn’t just some loser - it's a loser he’s been desperate to avoid ever since day one - makes him cringe slightly.

Huge green glasses. Beady eyes. Ace stands opposite him, looking way too sober and out of place that it’s actually ridiculous.

“You lost? What are you doing here?” Timmy demands.

“Just wanted to talk.”

“Talk? Are you kidding me? How did you even know I was here?”

Ace looks genuinely offended, “You’re not the only one who’s invited to parties, you know…”

Timmy scoffs. “I just asked you a question. Seriously, man, I don’t get it. You’ve had it out for me since the moment I got here!”

“You think you’re so much better than me. Harvard, Louboutins...I’m just as smart as you are, Chalamet, and you sure as shit didn’t come here for some kind of “emotional cleanse” or whatever the fuck you wanna lie about next.”

Timmy laughs out loud. _The balls on this guy! It’s quite remarkable, really._

“Is that what you came here to tell me? Gee, thanks! I’ve been enlightened!” Timmy  
bends over to bow and somehow trips over air in the process.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. But look, I know why you’re here, okay? No more bullshitting me. I won’t have it.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a guy.”

“A guy!”

“Armie.” Ace looks at him like he’s stupid. Timmy blinks.

“Armie...” He whispers.

“Yes. You gonna repeat everything I say? I’m talking about Armie. Arrrmieee Haaammeeerr?”

Timmy remains silent. Ace, being as cocky as ever, sees it as an opportunity and he starts to tap his forefinger against his chin.

“Let’s see what I know about Armie Hammer. Hmmm. Oh! That’s right! I know that he lives in town, which is funny because you told me you didn’t know anybody around here.” He winks, “You also checked his Facebook _sixty-three_ times today and his Instagram fifteen times!”

“You went through my computer?”

“You lied to me and-”

“LIED? I didn’t lie! I wasn’t under _oath_ when I met you in the fucking office! I could have you fired, you know!”

“-and you lied because whoever this Armie Hammer is, you’re _obsessed_ with him!”

Timmy gulps, “You’re crazy.”

“Am I though?”

They stare at each other. Timmy bites his cheeks. Ace folds his arms across his chest.

“You’re in love with him. Look at you. Look at those love eyeballs.”

“Oh, “love eyeballs”, yeah.”

“You love him. You moved here for him. And you won’t admit it! Why?”

Timmy looks away.

“Why, Harvard?”

“In love with him? That’s ridiculous. I barely know him. I dated him for a summer when I was 16. Okay, what are you saying? Let’s unpack it. You’re saying I uprooted my entire life, left behind a job that paid me 545 thousand dollars... for some random guy I haven’t seen in ten years who likes to skateboard and thinks “whatever” is two separate words?”

That predatory gleam in Ace’s eyes appears once again and he grins, “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Looks like there’s no way out of this one, after all.

“Okay...I was in New York and I saw him and he made me feel all warm like glitter was exploding inside me, and now I’m here. But I didn’t move here FOR him because that would be crazy.” Timmy makes sure to pause for effect, “And I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were crazy. I said you were in love.”

“No! I can’t be in love because - well - because that would make me _stupid!”_ He cries.

“You’re not stupi-”

Timmy starts to slur, flailing his arms about. “I’m stupid and I’m irrational and I’m everything my wretched mother said. Oh my God, I really am fucking crazy, aren’t I? Wow! I’ve finally lost it! I’m such a fucking idiot!”

“STOP IT!” Ace roars and Timmy’s eyes shoot out of his head. “Don’t you dare talk about my friend that way. Do you hear me?”

_Is he talking about-_

“We’re friends?” Timmy asks, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. He can’t even believe how long it’s been since he’s thought about friendship at all, especially not in the context of _this_ guy.

“I’d be honoured to be your friend, you dick!” Ace laughs and it’s a strangely pleasant sound, taking Timmy completely aback. He starts to look around, wondering where the real Ace has run off to.

Something’s changed about the guy standing right in front of him like... he’s no longer envious? Perhaps he just wanted to be friends from the beginning? Well, he certainly has a weird way of going about it, that’s for sure.

Timmy looks at him again and notices how he has something fiery in his eyes, like determination. Ace responds by looking back at Timmy like he’s genuinely proud of him and it hits _hard._

“And by the way, now that I know the truth? What you did for love? The sacrifices? You’re brave. Wish I could’ve been that brave…Look, I get it, it’s a secret. I won’t tell a soul. But I’m here now. You’re not alone anymore. We are going to win this, you hear me? We won’t let what happened to Justin and Selena happen to you, I promise.”

Ace laughs and pats Timmy on the shoulder: a simple touch yet somehow so reassuring.

“I appreciate that. Really, I do. But, you don’t understand. Armie...he has a girlfriend. I texted him 46 hours ago and haven’t heard anything. Too busy with her.” Timmy looks down and starts to play with his fingers. “Which is fine, no biggie..”

“Oh, bullshit. I don’t believe that. His Facebook status is single. If he was into her, would it say that?”

Timmy snorts. It’s ridiculous but it actually makes him feel better. “That’s what I thought!”

“So maybe he doesn’t realize his true feelings right now, but if we play this right, one day he will. One day it’s gonna hit him like a ton of bricks and when that happens,” Ace grabs a firm hold of Timmy’s shoulders and shakes him for emphasis, “He. Will. Text.”

At that exact moment, a miracle: a chime from Timmy’s phone. _A text._

Timmy gasps and looks at Ace with wide eyes, “Are you a wizard?”

Right there, time seems to slow down as Timmy reaches down to pick up his phone. He opens up the text but doesn’t read it - just silently hands it over to Ace.

Ace grabs the device without question and takes a deep breath. Timmy braces himself, holding both hands over his face.

“It says: Wanna grab dinner? Smiley face.”

“IS THERE REALLY A SMILEY FACE?”

“THERE’S A SMILEY FACE. HOLY FUCKING SHIT.”

And the world seems a little bit smaller for a while. Timmy feels about 10 pounds lighter, high on the giddiness and the rush of it all.

The two men huddle over the phone, laughing to themselves and Timmy thinks that perhaps this is just what he needs.

No, he’s not going to let himself pursue a taken man but maybe, just maybe, they can pretend for a while that there is something more in the air - something truly magical.

He shrugs the thought away for a moment because right now, he’s experiencing the first moments of genuine friendship in his life and he wants to remember this night for a long, long time.

Ace smirks, “You wanna go drive by his house?”

“You know where he lives?” Timmy asks and they look at each other for a good second before bursting out in tears, tripping over themselves with the laughter.

The next day, Timmy wakes up to a banging headache. His limbs are all in knots, his face sweaty and he's practically glued to his bedsheets.

The phone on his nightstand is buzzing, letting him know it's time to get up and he grumbles before slapping the "off" button on the alarm. Then it hits him that he still hasn't replied to Armie about dinner and that definitely wakes him up.

He grabs his phone, opens up the message.

**“Wanna grab dinner? :)”**

Timmy just stares because once again, his brain is filled with nothing but white noise.

There are a million ways to respond yet none seem like safe options anymore. What do you say to come across as friendly but not _too_ friendly? Enthusiastic but not so much that he gets the wrong idea? It’s all too exhausting for such an early morning.

He types in: **Would love to. What time works best for you?** and sighs. Sweet and Simple because the truth is, nobody with innocent intentions would get so worked up over a singular _text._

If somehow desperate enough (and Lord knows he could get desperate) Timmy would write an entire declaration of love titled _“The Day We Met”_ or something else just as pretentious.

So, before that can happen, he quickly taps “send” and promises not to give it a second thought. Then he’s up in time ready for the day.

It’s early in the afternoon.

Timmy and Ace decide to sit in the break room together, eating donuts and catching up on each other’s lives. Ace proves to be a good conversationalist but most of the time they end up circling back to the same topic and it, of course, revolves around Armie.

Timmy tells Ace all about their summer together and how he feels stuck in that time period as if life stopped the moment Armie left. Everything up till now has been a blur, just a series of _things_ happening around him, never _to_ him.

Armie hadn’t replied to the message that Timmy sent earlier that morning and he couldn’t help but wonder what he did on a daily basis. Who did he talk to? What did he think about?

If he couldn’t be with him, he would at least try to have a friendship of some sorts - something real and uncomplicated. Those thoughts sucked away at his mind, forever tormenting him and most of the time it could get ugly pretty quickly because he was prone to stepping into dangerous territories.

Like the times when Timmy would wonder what it would be like to be held in his arms, letting his husky voice soothe him to sleep. Or better yet, when all he wanted was to be completely at Armie’s mercy: pleading, moaning, desperate to be held down and fucked like there was nothing else he was good for.

…That’s when he has to remind himself that it’s definitely the _friendship_ he wants (nothing more, nothing less) because his mind is an inconvenience - like a rabid dog that has to be trained every second of every day.

“So I've been thinking about it…” Timmy says, licking icing off his fingers.

“Yes?”

“And there could be, like a million reasons why Armie hasn't texted me back. Look, he specifically wrote in his text: “Want to grab dinner? Smiley face-”

“Which is the least he can do, since you left your great job and moved to this dump to be with him.” Ace interrupts.

“Hey! I didn't move here for him, remember?” I moved here because I needed a change and Armie just _happens_ to be here. Get it straight.”

“Oh, are we still doing that? Okay. All right, just let me know when we can stop, because  
I actually want to know what's keeping him from having dinner with his dear old friend from summer camp.”

Ace swiftly pulls out his phone from his pocket and opens up Instagram in search of Armie’s name. “Let’s see what he’s been up to, shall we?”

“What are you...don’t do that.”

He scrolls for a few moments and sees that Armie updated his story. “Oh! Look at this. He’s going to a club called Spiders with his friends tonight.” Ace claps and looks genuinely delighted with himself.

“Okay. Doesn’t matter to me. Just a friend.”

Ace rolls his eyes, “Just a friend, yeah. We both know you wanna go to this club just as much as I do, munchkin. So we will. We’re going there. Tonight.”

Timmy gives him a death glare.

“Right…” Timmy thinks for a second, “No, actually. You know what? I actually really like your idea.”

“You do?”

“Yup. Let’s go to Spider’s tonight. Just, like, a bro thing. Like, not- not cause Armie’s there. In fact, I _hope_ Armie’s not there. That way, when I’m doing my sexy dance moves, it’s just for me.”

“Just for you?”

“Just for me.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

So that evening, Timmy picks Ace up and they head off to the club. It’s crowded there, hardly enough room to breathe and the waiting line stretches out for miles before you can actually see the entrance of the place. Ace sighs exasperatedly.

“How the fuck are we gonna find him out here? It might be hours before we get let in.”

Timmy, on the other hand, seems relatively neutral.

“That’s okay. It’s not like I’m here to impress him or anything.” And nobody, not even the miserable bodyguard that gets paid less than $5 an hour believes a word that comes out of his mouth.

The two manage to wait around for about half an hour before Ace starts getting impatient and fidgety. Timmy’s legs are also starting to give out.

“Ughhh. Fineee.” Ace groans, “As much as I hate to admit it, I’m just about ready to go home. You wanna grab some pizza on the way back?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Timmy smirks.

As far as he’s concerned, he just saved himself from a highly risky situation. Who knows what kind of shit he would’ve pulled if Armie had been there all drunk and sexy and handsome as ever. Timmy’s good at lying, sure, but he’s the world’s _worst_ at impulse control.

So they head back home, Ace already knocked out in the driver’s seat, a slice of pizza dangling from his lips, and Timmy wide awake, mind still racing.

When Timmy makes it back to his apartment, he’s mentally drained. He tries to force himself asleep but it’s useless. For a good few minutes he’s raiding his belongings in search of those damn sleeping pills but he then realizes that he must’ve thrown them out already. _Good one._

He slaps himself across the forehead and debates whether or not to go out and buy some more. Then he opens up his refrigerator to find that the shelves are completely empty as well.

Great! No food. No sleeping pills. It looks like he has no other choice.

It’s 3 AM. Just before he leaves, he stops to look at himself in the mirror, and God, his face is all sweaty and tired and his hair is a mess. He’s clad in pajama pants and a worn-out “Harvard” shirt with the letters printed out in red.

It’s _horrendous_ but this should only be a quick errand and he figures that it’s way too early in the morning for the store to be crowded anyways. He hastily grabs his keys, opens the door, and heads out.

The medical aisle has an assortment of sleeping remedies: facial oils, night creams, pillow sprays - all fancy-pants brands with organic-sounding names. It’s all bullshit, though. Timmy would know because he’s tried the whole lot.

Eventually, he finds his usual sleeping pills and dumps them into the basket.

He thinks about his refrigerator back home. How had it gone completely empty? Timmy never cooks so it probably wasn’t even _stocked_ in the first place.

He hesitates as he picks up a few microwave meals. The memory of himself a few weeks back, excited to get into cooking, start being all healthy and shit makes him feel extremely guilty. He puts the meals back, instead opting for the fridges at the end of the aisle where there are a bunch of raw meats to choose from.

Lazily, Timmy grabs his basket and walks over. He picks up a packet of lamb, examines it, and puts it back.

Yeah, okay so he has no clue what to do.

He groans.

There are a few people scattered around the store, all looking as dead as Timmy feels right now. He was sensible to wear the pajamas, though, as it seems that most people have opted for the casual night-wear look, too.

As he opens up another fridge, he starts to hear a low rumbling noise to his right - sort of like a car engine.

_There must be something wrong with the fridges?_

No. It’s too echoey of a sound, nowhere near monotonous enough to be a machine. It’s sort of melodic? In fact, if Timmy really concentrates on it, he could fall asleep right there. He listens to the noise rumble in his ear for a while, his eyes starting to feel heavier.

A few moments later and there’s another sound, higher pitched this time and it rambles on and on. _Ice-cream_ something. _Do we want vanilla tonight or chocolate?_

 _We?_ So it’s just people talking.

Timmy doesn’t know what else he expected. Better yet, why had he found that one noise so relaxing?

 _It’s way too late for this. Just buy the stupid meat and get the hell out of here._ He tells himself but then that same noise is back again and it makes Timmy perk up.

“That’s a good one. Only $5.26. You up for it, babe?”

His body does an involuntary shudder, forcing himself to find the source of the noise and that’s when his body freezes up _entirely._ Timmy clutches onto a packet of beef, knuckles turning white and eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

**_Armie._ **

And he’s not alone.

There is a dark-haired woman latching onto his shoulders.

She wears a tight black dress: elegant as much as it is effortless. Her makeup is perfectly done: red lipstick half smudged, probably from drinking - _probably from kissing Armie._ He goes to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and it’s dark and wild, messy yet purposeful, bouncing flawlessly as she talks.

_She is… she’s just…_

“Perfect.” Timmy breathes out.

It’s like watching a hologram. Timmy can’t figure out if he’s hallucinating or maybe he just happened to step into the wrong dimension that morning?

_Fuck._

Armie grabs onto her waist, two big hands rubbing up and down her body as they lean against a fridge to make out. Her perfectly sculpted legs wrap around him and Armie expertly works his tongue into her mouth.

It’s the quite literally sexiest torture Timmy's ever had the displeasure of witnessing.

“Can I help you, sir?” A voice says from behind, startling Timmy and causing him to jump up.

“He’s just a friend!” Timmy blurts out and is immediately embarrassed to find three guys standing directly behind, arms filled to the brim with candies, one of whom is Daniel who looks at him with a mischievous grin. “Oh, man…”.

“So, this is awkward,” Daniel huffs out a laugh, “but, hey, since you’re here, could we have a postmortem on the whole crying-makeout session?”

“I- uhh…”

“Oh, and how rude of me! This is Kyle.” Daniel points to the one in the snapback. “And this is Nick.” He points to the one chewing on a Twizzler.

“Hello.” Timmy croaks, “Well, we’ve all met. Hopefully next time I’ll be-”

“Better looking?” Kyle laughs.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Daniel says.

“Haha…No. I mean...It’s fine. Look, I’ll text you at some point. I just- I really have to-”

“Leave, yeah. Don’t worry I get it.”

Timmy nods politely and swoops up his basket, eager to just go. He manages to take one step forward before-

“Babe, who’s the guy Daniel’s talking to?” The woman says and Armie’s hands come to a halt. He turns around to face Timmy and his eyes widen, visibly shaken to the core.

“Timmy?”

The two start to walk towards him and Timmy’s legs lock up. _Shit._

Daniel and the guys are now on his back whilst Armie and his girlfriend stand directly in front, barely an arm's distance away. It’s like he’s wedged into some kind of human sandwich and... (well, maybe he would be into it if the circumstances were a little different).

“Oh, hi Armie.” He tries for casual as if things like this happen to him all the time and Armie’s girlfriend looks back and forth between the two, utterly confused.

“You guys know each other?”

“Yeah, we uhhh- this is Timothée. We met at summer camp,” and Timmy doesn’t miss the way Armie avoids meeting his eyes.

"Well hi. I'm Valencia." She says, smiling. Then she pauses and narrows her eyes. "How did _you_ guys meet?" She motions back and forth between Daniel and Timmy.

“Oh, um…” Timmy looks around and catches Daniel staring at him. “We met at the sports bar. We became like, casual buds…”

_Abort. Abort. Abort._

Timmy rushes to change the subject, “So, Valencia, that's such a beautiful name. What’s the origin of that?”

“Oh? Um… Well, it used to be Maria but I never felt like a Maria so I changed it to my mother's maiden name: “Valencia”."

“Wow! That’s really-”

“It’s the Spanish word for “brave”.” She interrupts and Timmy is lost for words.

He also takes notice of the way the air has shifted, becoming thick with tension. He doesn't know whether it's Daniel behind him or the way Armie is nervously looking between the two of them, but it feels _wrong_ and he needs to show Armie that he’s not here to start petty catfights with his girlfriend.

“God, I love your dress! Can I just say, like, you pull it off so, so well? Armie’s so lucky to have you.”

Valencia seems to release some tension from her shoulders, “Thank you! I teach yoga. Keeps me fit.”

“Really? That’s so weird because I just _love_ yoga!”

“You do?” Valencia looks unconvinced. Rightfully so. Timmy hasn’t touched a yoga mat in his life.

“Yeah, I-I love it,” he says.

“Well, maybe you should come to one of my classes.”

“I would love that.” Timmy smiles and then his eyes drop to the packet of meat he's been holding onto for the past five minutes. Armie seems to take notice of it as well.

“Well. we should probably get going. Leave you to finish up.” Armie says and Timmy couldn’t agree more.

The group begins to walk away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He no longer cares about getting sleep tonight because there’s an entirely new thing for him to torture himself with. He puts both hands on the fridge door and tries to breathe.

_Oh my God, she’s so pretty. Oh my God, she’s so pretty. Oh my God, she’s so pretty._

He chants it over and over in his head.

_No wonder he loves her._

_Fuck the meat. Fuck the pills._

In a haste, he forgets his basket entirely and rushes down the aisle toward the exit.

Timmy doesn't even lift his head once, just keeps walking, the panic rising in his chest. He manages to make it to the sliding doors before he collides head-first with something tall and obtrusive standing in the doorway.

“Ow!" He rubs the top of his head, "Shit, sorry. I-” Timmy looks up and immediately comes face to face with a six foot five Armie blocking the exit.

 _Holy shit._ It takes all his effort to not start whimpering right there.

“Hi there.” Armie grins all the way up to his eyes.

“Hey.” Timmy gulps. The way Armie’s looking down at him. The shirt that’s just a little _too_ tight. _The fucking cologne._

“I hope that we didn’t bombard you too much back there. You look tired. I didn’t mean to-” Armie pauses. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It was just a little uhh,” Timmy motions something like chaos with his hands. “But no. It’s all good. Don’t worry about me.”

Armie starts to rub his neck. He looks distressed. “Good. I’m glad you're okay because... I was just worried you might hate me."

"What, why?"

"I don't know. The way I introduced you guys to each other- summer camp. I haven't told her about, y’know,” Armie smiles awkwardly. “Us.”

Timmy’s face heats up, “Uh, yeah, we were...so young...”

“Yeah.” Armie chuckles. “We were.”

“So, like, if you don’t wanna tell people. That’s fine. I totally get it. We were only young. It meant nothing, right?”

“Actually, no. I was planning on telling her eventually. This just-” He sighs. “It wasn’t the best timing.”

Timmy rubs a hand down his chest, letting the old tattered fabric of his shirt stretch. He grins. “Is it because I look homeless?”

Armie laughs. “No, no. It’s not that! It’s just that Valencia, she sometimes sweats these things and I don’t wanna, y’know-”

“Let her get the wrong idea.” Timmy guesses. “No, no. I get it, don’t worry.” He suddenly thinks back to that dinner proposal. “Wait...is that the reason you haven’t gotten back to me about dinner?”

Armie looks down at his feet.

“Come on, dude! I’m no threat. Look at her!” Timmy points to Valencia who is currently stood by the cashier. “Now, look at _me!”_ He points to his own outfit. “And gosh, I have no problem with her. I think she’s terrific. I mean, did you see how we instantly bonded. Actually, I... I would like to be friends with her.”

“What? No! I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t think you guys should be like, friends just yet, okay?”

“Alright, alright.”

The two stand there awkwardly for a few seconds, both unsure where to go from here.

Armie is studying Timmy’s face, probably looking for any signs of discomfort. He must look pretty flustered because suddenly Armie’s leaning in closer and Timmy involuntarily sucks in a breath. He puts a hand on Timmy’s arm and gently starts to rub his thumb up and down.

“Just chill, okay?” He says softly. From here, Timmy can see every shade of blue in his eyes. “Okay,” he whispers.

Armie nods and playfully flicks Timmy’s chin with his finger. “Anyways, I gotta go. Catch you later.”

“I’ll catch you…” Timmy tries to tap Armie’s chin in return but he’s already walking away. “I got your chin!”

Timmy winces. “ _I got your chin?_ What the fuck are you doing?” He scrunches up his face, walks out the door, and decides that he really won’t be getting much sleep tonight after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AWKWARD.


	4. I Hope Armie Comes to My Party!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS TOOK ME SOOOOOO DAMN LONGGGG >:((((
> 
> The main reason for that is because I've been simultaneously working on some fanart for this fic so that's taken up a lot of my time! Anyway, I aim to update weekly but I'm sorry for being a little late on this occasion as you can never really know how long a chapter will take. 
> 
> I also get super bored when I'm not writing smut so I'm hoping to post a lil freaky one-shot about vibrators and whatnot  
> in the meantime ;p
> 
> Okay, I'll shut up now,,, just wanna say I hope you had a lovely Christmas, 
> 
> Mwah. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timmy reveals some truths about his childhood and is somehow roped into one of Ace's little endeavors...

The boba shop downtown became a personal favourite of Timmy's as he started to visit it often during his break times at work. He and Ace had come here together, gotten to know the staff and it was a cozy space to be in, full of wacky modern art and fairy lights that dangled from the ceiling. Timmy's favourite place to sit was a little nook in the corner filled with plump cushions and the owner, Kai, had started to reserve that seat just for him. It was just the type of kindness he needed whenever break time came around because Armie was constantly on his mind. No matter how much he tried not to let it get to him, Armie was becoming more and more of a problem the closer they got.

After the first interaction at the grocery store, the two had started texting back and forth almost every day. The dinner they had originally planned was off the table for now but they agreed to meet and catch up as soon as possible. Armie kept himself busy, helping out at his parents' hotel but other than that he had plenty of free time. Timmy, on the other hand, was swamped up with meetings with clients, investors, developers, the whole lot. He specialised in real estate which was always something he had an interest in but it was so exhausting trying to win over people who didn't even seem to _want_ to be helped in the first place.

About three weeks had passed since Timmy had settled in and, despite the usual frustrations at work, he felt like a new person entirely. He noticed it in the way he would almost skip around his office, the way he had started to take care of his apartment, filling it with little cacti and other random trinkets (his favourite was the Giraffe named [General Gordon](https://www.artisanti.com/general-gordon-the-giraffe-bust-104161-p.asp?gclid=Cj0KCQiA2uH-BRCCARIsAEeef3lzj9PZZLQPUr4lAGS9lFvCGuXqTrgxRKEXcSLUU8x1dabbN39HYT8aApDqEALw_wcB) that would greet him by the front door every day).

"You need to throw a party." Ace said one afternoon as they sat in the corner of the boba shop.

"What?"

"A party. It makes sense. Work is stressful. Just throw a party."

Timmy snorts, never failing to be amused by Ace’s random suggestions. Timmy had learned that he was the kind to act first and think later - something he was reluctant to admit was actually very similar about the two of them, "And what would I get out of this?"

"Well...I'm not naming names here but all I know is that there's a certain guy in town who just _loves_ to party. In fact, he's crazy about them, and what better way to get some time alone with him?”

“Ha. You’re funny. Also no, I don’t do parties.”

“And why not? It’s a great idea.”

Timmy takes a long sip of his tea, “I don’t know…”

“I dunno.” Ace says in a mocking tone, “C’mon, what is it?”

Timmy sighs. “It’s just-” He stares at his hands, “I don’t know. I have bad memories attached to parties, that’s all.”

Unconvinced, Ace leans across the table to study Timmy's face. He’s twiddling his thumbs nervously. “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

Silence.

“Hey, it’s okay, you can tell me anything, you know.”

"Ughhh," Timmy drops his head to the table, “I just, God- I threw a party once and it was my twelfth birthday and it was _terrible._ ” His voice is muffled by the fabric of his clothes.

“I’m sure it wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“No. I don’t think you understand. When I say “terrible” I mean this was the worst party ever. My dad, he-” Timmy swallows.

“What is it?”

“Ah, fuck it.” He takes a deep breath before deciding to spill the story, “It was meant to be a party with my friends - I say “friends” but they were never really that close to me, all of that moving around and changing schools, I guess it never felt like we had a proper home, but anyways! The point is that my parents let me throw a party for once and I was actually excited.” He smiles faintly as if recounting the memory.

“And what happened? Cmon, you tripped over something, you got cake thrown in your face? We all have our moments, Tim.”

“But then, the time came. I heard the first knock on the door and I hurried to answer it. That’s when I heard a scream coming from the kitchen. My mom was shouting at my dad. I’d never heard her so angry before…

Long story short: my dad ended up walking right out the door. He didn’t say a word, he just looked at me with this, I don’t know, _guilt?_ I have no idea how I knew it but I could feel him slipping away from my life right then and there.

My mom never stopped being angry - always telling me about some _“whore”,_ which I never even understood at the time and I just-” Timmy’s gulps, the words feeling like daggers in his throat, “I felt like it had to be my fault. All of it… I don’t know… I never really saw him again, save for a couple Christmases, oh, and that one time I ran away from home to visit him.” He laughs but it’s filled with a kind of sadness, “and by that point he’d already had another son, name’s Tucker, and gotten married to the so-called _whore..._ All in the span of three years, mind you!” Timmy exclaims like he still can’t quite believe it. He trails off with a whisper, “So that was one wasted train ticket, I guess...”

“And that’s the root of all your party fears?”

Timmy nods and it’s then that Ace comes to understand what has truly made up the person that he's staring at right now - something he was determined to figure out from the very beginning. It was already clear that this “Armie” guy was Timmy’s first love, as well as his first heartbreak. But what’s come to light is that he was the _second_ man in Timmy’s life to up and leave, for arguably no rhyme or reason. And It was never anything that Timmy did to warrant people’s abandonment, rather it was the other’s poor choices that made them leave. As a result, Timmy had learned to just assume that he was inherently an inconvenience; an insufferable person to be around and perhaps, just a little crazy.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry.” Ace says quietly because an apology seems to be the only reasonable thing to offer right now.

Unfortunately, Timmy doesn't seem to know how to respond because contrary to popular belief he’s never been one for deep talks about his childhood on a Friday afternoon.

The two sit there for a while, embracing the comfortable silence that hangs about them. Timmy seems to be at least a little bit more relaxed now that he’s gotten it off of his chest.

After a few minutes, Ace leans over to take a sip of his tea. He looks up briefly and realizes that Timmy hasn’t moved for quite some time, just staring down at his palms and not saying anything. He reaches over to grab Timmy’s cup, lifts it to the guy’s lips and gently guides the straw into his mouth. Timmy squirms as the straw is being prodded against his lips. Eventually he gives up and lets Ace feed him the drink. He rolls his eyes but what Ace doesn’t know is that he’s actually fighting back a smile.

“See? Boba makes everything better.” Ace says and he waits until Timmy’s finished to take the straw out of his mouth. “So, is partying off the table?”

“I’ll consider it,” Timmy moves his mouth to the side, “Only if you promise to help me out.”

“Deal.”

“And don’t make it about Armie. I can have parties if I want to.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll shut my mouth.”

“And you know what? I’m not done. I actually hope Armie’s _not_ there because I-”

“Alright!” He cuts him off. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. You know I’m only messing with you. You can still be his _friend_... if that’s all you want.”

Timmy jabs the side of his arm, “Hey! Of course that’s what I want, dude, I’m not some homewrecker.”

Ace purses his lips. “No, not a homewrecker. Got it.” and then he glances down at his watch, shocked to find that the time has absolutely flown by. “Shit! We gotta get back.”

Ace jumps up, making sure to thank Kai for the _“lovely boba, wonderful, tastes so good!”_ and Timmy rushes after him, remembering to nod politely at the staff behind the counter.

* * *

Once back inside the firm, they agree to work together on gathering guests for the party. The plan is to have it this weekend, seeing as today’s Friday, and Timmy really wouldn’t be able to cope if he had to think about it for another week. He just needs to get this out of the way so that Ace can shut up about it finally.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda counting on you, Ace. You know people around here.”

“You know people too!”

Timmy quirks an eyebrow. “Bullshit.”

“You do. C’mon, what about the people in your apartment complex?”

“They scare me.”

“Ok…” Ace thinks. “Ooh! You go to that spin class, you can invite them!”

It’s true. Timmy had signed up to a spin class within the first three days (on a slightly drunken whim) but the people there were complete health nuts, all uptight and snobby.

“I’d rather die.” He says matter-of-factly, “Ok here’s what we’ll do. I’ll get Armie and his friends to invite whoever’s in their circle. You go ask around, get your people or whatever you call it and we’ll be good.” Timmy says and then he holds his breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He searches for some kind of reassurance from Ace but he seems to have drifted far away. “I said we’ll be good, right?”

“Oh! Yeah. We’ll be good.” Ace slaps a hand on Timmy’s shoulder and smiles. “You got this, Harvard.”

* * *

Later that evening, Timmy sits in his apartment alone… As usual.

The rest of the workday had been pretty easy-going, all things considered, but he couldn’t wait to flop down on his couch and watch mindless TV. He had buried himself under a large throw blanket and opened up a tub of mint ice-cream. It didn’t take long for him to finish the whole thing and when he did, was surprised to find that he didn’t feel guilty about it at all. If it had been a few months earlier, he would have _hated_ himself.

He decides another tub of ice-cream couldn’t really hurt anybody and so he wraps himself up in a blanket cocoon and shuffles over to the kitchen to open up the freezer. He manages to get one hand on the door before a buzzing sound emerges from back in the living room and it snaps Timmy of his sleepy haze. He goes to retrieve his phone immediately.

**ACE: Hey I hope you’re not slouching around cus we have a party to plan. I got my guys. You got yours yeah?**

_Shit._ He thumbs in the reply.

**TIMMY: Wasn’t slouching, I was meditating,,, also no. but im on it I swear**

**ACE: mediating now, is it? wooooow you’re fitting in much more quickly than I thought.**

**TIMMY: 🖕**

Timmy puts his phone down and groans to himself because the truth is, he’s absolutely terrified - terrified about having people over in his apartment so suddenly, terrified of getting to see Armie in person after so long, and most importantly, he’s somehow managed to convince himself that something traumatic is going to happen just like it did when he was twelve years old.

Every time he closes his eyes, he can still see the look on his father’s face as he walks out the door and Timmy tortures himself to no end with the limited memories of his father holding a brand new son like he’s the light of his life or rather as he saw it, a shiny new toy whose only purpose was to tear families apart.

Timmy rarely saw Tucker these days, not so much out of spite but because there were never any opportunities to do so. It was always just the rumors from his mom that kept him updated and she had Timmy convinced that his dad never loved them in the first place.

_And who’s to say the same won’t happen with Armie? It’s happened before. He’s walked out on you and he can do it again. Crucial, that word. Again. He didn’t even want you all those years ago. Give up._

And then he’s slapping himself across the face. “Shut the fuck up," because this should only be about a _friendship_ with Armie. In all honesty, It’s getting exhausting constantly having to remind himself of that.

With a huff, Timmy picks up his phone again. He is scrolling to find Armie’s number and, despite everything, can’t help but smile at the countless messages they’ve sent each other. It’s mostly dull chatter about work but it still means a lot that they can talk to each other like this - like it's actually important that they know how the other person is doing.

The message that Timmy comes up with next is truly something from the heart, or at least, it would come across that way if Armie could see the smile plastered on his face as he types it. The actual text could be written by someone half asleep for all he knows.

 **TIMMY: bring lots of people and weed so we can party at mine tmrw** and he's genuinely proud of it. Job well done.

However, it soon occurs to him that Armie will probably want to bring his girlfriend and in all his giddiness, he had almost forgotten about her entirely. He tries not to let his eyes roll into the back of his head because It's the mere thought of yet another stilted, awkward conversation with her that makes him doubt this whole thing again. He really can’t deal with even just one more, "How are you!"- always said more like a declaration of surprise rather than genuine interest - and then it's another useless "How are you!" back.

He'll compliment her again, out of embarrassment for himself probably, "Great body-something. Armie so lucky."

Timmy will get hit with another, "Can't say the same to you!" look. He knows that look - has studied it every night now. She'll ask, "Come to my yoga class?" and pray for a simple "no”, but what she'll get is a "Count me in!" and Timmy will have to suffer through another terrible impulse decision because he's always trying to win people over and when it's all said and done, it's only then that he'll realize that Valencia never once said: "thank you".

He'll let the thought marinate in his brain for a while - could be days, weeks, or even months, but the result is always the same. Timmy will end up holding a grudge and using the littlest things as an excuse to hate her, which he absolutely should not - the poor woman’s done nothing to deserve it.

With all that said, yeah, this party should be good.

Surprisingly, Armie’s already typing back as soon as the message is sent. Timmy grabs a pillow and holds his breath in anticipation, watching the three dots pulsate on his screen.

The message comes through.

**cool, I'm in. I’ll text the guys in a min. Numbers should work out if they can’t make it tho right?**

Timmy stares at the screen. The realization that Armie’s probably expecting him to have a bunch of people to hand starts sinking in. Maybe he’s expecting some massive house party or something because that’s just the kind of thing they do here...like every weekend. Should he be doing that too?

**yup. no worries it's gonna be great either way. 👍** He replies and grits his teeth for whatever kind of shitstorm is coming his way.

But then there’s another buzz.

**it looks like Valencia won’t be coming though, i’m sorry.**

Timmy gasps. Sorry? It’s almost laughable how Armie thinks the news warrants an apology because Timmy already feels the weight lift off of his shoulders. He replies,

 **Aw, that’s a shame. I hope you can still enjoy yourself.** and Armie responds immediately, **Of course! See you then**

“Of course. See you then.” Timmy repeats.

_Yeah, you better._

* * *

The next day comes around much more quickly than Timmy would have hoped. He’s still on edge about the whole thing but he’s learning that it can’t be too bad. It’s not like his dad’s gonna suddenly manifest in the middle of the dancefloor and walk right out of his life again.

Ace is also more reassuring than ever, now that he knows about it too.

Speak of the devil, it’s around 8 PM when he shows up at Timmy’s apartment, carrying a box of what he can only assume is complete junk. But when Timmy helps him through the door, grabbing the other side of the cardboard and walking backwards into his living room, they put the box down and he comes to realize just what Ace brought along.

“Decorations?” He exclaims, “Why in God’s name do we need those?”

Putting both hands on his hips, Ace remarks, “It’s funny.” like that solves anything. He reaches down to rummage through the box and what he finds is a pink heart-shaped piñata. He chuckles and wiggles it in front of Timmy’s face.

Next, Ace picks up a mini Christmas tree. When he pushes a button, the leaves light up and the chorus of “Jingle Bells” starts to play on repeat. At the sound of it, Ace does a little shimmy and Timmy watches on in horror.

How on earth did he manage to let this fool convince him that any of this was a good idea?

“Ah, I get it!” Timmy says suddenly.

“You do?”

“Instead of choosing one theme, we’ll just have _all_ the themes, how silly of me.”

“Precisely.” Ace says and then he’s looking for another decoration. What he finds this time is a plush orange pumpkin with googly eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.” Timmy says, grabbing the toy. He examines the plush creature and can’t help but let out a little laugh because it’s Ace’s enthusiasm that (admittedly) makes it kind of funny. “Okay, so who have we got coming tonight?” Timmy asks.

“Uhhh, let’s see. I invited a bunch of my college friends and some people from work. You got Armie and his friends so I’d say we’re pretty much good to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“How many times have I told you? Yes, this is meant to relieve your stress. And anyway, who gives a fuck about who shows up?”

“ _Me_ gives a fuck about who shows up!”

Ace sighs. “Just let yourself have fun for once, please. You deserve it.”

“No,” Timmy lets his head fall back in frustration and he groans, “This is stupid.”

“Nope. No, look. Look at me, Timmy.” Ace points to some hideous clown mask that he’s managed to find, “This isn’t meant to be taken seriously. I picked this shit up so that we can laugh about it but I just think you’re taking it all too literally. If your party is the kind of party where there are mix-match decorations and nobody really knows anybody but just accepts it, then so be it! We’re gonna have fun.”

Timmy furrows his brows.

“I mean it! I want you to stop worrying about getting people’s approval. Just, I don’t know, live in the moment, I guess.”

Timmy snorts, “Yes, thank you, messiah.”

“Whatever. Just help me get these stupid decorations up.”

They start to rummage through the box, every item getting more obscure the deeper they go, until eventually Timmy’s apartment is littered with tinsel, fairy lights, piñatas, palm trees, love hearts, and skeletons.

Timmy looks around at the mess and realizes that, yes, he was absolutely right the first time.

_This is ridiculous._

But, even so, the tackiness is an oddly charming touch.

“Alright, people will be arriving soon. You should probably get the drinks out and-” Ace motions something vaguely with his hand, “Pretend to look as casual as possible.” He slumps down on Timmy’s couch with a sigh, putting his feet up to rest on the little table in front of him.

Timmy huffs. He’s just placing one last string of tinsel over the coffee table before heading over to the kitchen. He makes sure to kick Ace’s feet off of the table first, though.

“I don’t want your musty feet up there, thank you.”

“You're worse than my mom.”

Timmy pokes his tongue out. Once in the kitchen, he opens the fridge to find that somehow it’s been filled to the brim with various cans of craft beer.

In fact, he doesn’t even know where the rest of his food’s gone.

“That enough beer for you?” Ace calls out.

“I think it’s enough for a nuclear invasion,” Timmy shouts back. “I don’t know when, or even _how_ you did it but thank you.” He pops open a can for himself. It tastes too bitter for his liking but there’s not much he can do about that now because people are most definitely going to be arriving soon. Timmy grabs a handful of drinks and makes his way back into the living room.

“Oh shit.”

Timmy pauses, “What is it?”

He finds Ace sat up with a phone held up to his ear. “Hello?” He says.

The voice on the other end is just a murmur and Timmy has no idea what’s going on. Ace also has a look of concern on his face that makes him panic slightly.

Suddenly, a minute has passed and Ace is getting up from the couch to put on a jacket.

Timmy watches in disbelief.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m so sorry.” Ace says as he walks towards the front door.

“Wh- what is it?”

He shakes his head, “Work called. There’s been an emergency involving some missing documents and I’ve been called in at the last minute to give it a look over-”

“No!” Timmy starts to rush after him, a combination of hurt, anger, and betrayal making him act frantic, “What the fuck am I meant to do when your friends get here? I don’t know any of them and _fucking hell,_ this was your idea in the first place!” He’s rambling but Ace is already reaching a hand out for the doorknob. “ _Please,_ you can’t just leave! The party’s literally in twenty minutes!”

“I know! Look, I’m just gonna take care of this problem, alright? It won’t take me long. Just make light conversation, you’ll be fine. My friends, they’re not bad people and I swear as soon as I’m finished, I’m turning right back around and coming right back here, okay?”

Timmy just stares at him in perplexity, his mouth hanging wide open.

“I said okay?”

“God,” Timmy whines, “Just _please_ hurry back.”

“Of course,” He says and just before he leaves, Ace turns to face Timmy, “Just remember, you got this.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just go.” Timmy sighs and he watches as Ace walks right out the door.

When it closes, he pushes himself against the wood and slides down so that he can sit in a miserable heap on the floor.

With Ace gone for good, Timmy is completely shitting himself.

The only thing left to do now is to wait. He’s sat on the floor for a good fifteen minutes, praying that Armie doesn’t show up right away (if at all) because the last thing he needs is for Armie to see how much of a pathetic awkward excuse for a man he is. What was he thinking with this outfit? The hoodie he’s wearing suddenly seems too baggy, too plain. It’s no longer flattering enough and he’s having second thoughts.

Maybe if he just runs upstairs quickly then he can go get changed and-

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Timmy’s interrupted by a series of abrasive knocks on his front door; so perfectly timed that it’s kind of ridiculous and yet so incredibly unnerving to hear that it actually makes him go slightly out of breath. He gets up off of the floor and reaches for the handle. not having even the slightest idea who might be on the other side.

Timmy decides to open the door just a smidge so that he can at least get a little preview of the guests before disaster strikes but he’s quickly knocked back by the door swinging open and a series of high-pitched squeals erupting like hawks.

“Hi! Here’s a present!” Says one of the women walking right past him.

“Wha-” Timmy’s cut off by the group of people that have started filling their way into his apartment and all can do is stand there, gawking at the sight of them as numerous boxes of chocolates are being thrust into his hands. He has absolutely no time to process anything.

Like Ace had said (in amongst the usual lecturing), these were meant to be nice people but Timmy never anticipated that they were going to be _this_ nice. Chocolates? Really? Were they meant to be celebrating something?

A man in a beanie hands him a box of cakes, “Those are good until midnight.” He says.

“Oh- um, thank you?”

Another girl crowds into Timmy’s space, smiling brightly at him, “Happy birthday!” Then she’s looking around the room. “Where’s Ace?”

“Ace? He’s-” Timmy tilts his head, “Wait, what did you say?”

She blinks, “Happy birthday. It’s what Ace said, anyway.”

_Of course he did._

“That explains that, then. Thank you.”

Timmy smiles politely at her then turns to take his first proper look around at his now bustling apartment. There about six people of varying enthusiasm, most of them inspecting the weird decorations they’ve put up, not knowing whether to be impressed, scared, or both.

It’s not even a minute before they’re helping themselves to just about anything they can get their hands on, drinks, food - someone even asks Timmy where the music is and he is somewhat grateful that they don’t exactly expect him to be putting on a show. He figures that these guys will be fine to do whatever they want and that’s quite a relief.

However, there’s one crucial thing that’s plaguing Timmy’s mind right now and that’s their reason for being here in the first place.

Somehow, Ace thought it would be a good idea to let them know that it’s his birthday, which it most definitely is _not_ and that alone, just might bring a whole new plethora of problems.

If he tells these people that it's actually _not_ his birthday, they’ll probably look at him like he’s some desperate freak who needs someone else to lie for him in order for him to make friends.

But then again, if he plays along, Armie’s might have some questions like “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” and Timmy will have to legally change his date of birth once this is all over. You know, just to make sure.

“Hey guys, excuse me but I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.” He says, already turning on his heels.

Timmy has no idea what possessed him to run out of the room. All he knows is that it was either escape to the bathroom or perish and as tough as it was to decide, Timmy quite likes the first option.

When Timmy reaches the bathroom, he immediately drops to the floor - the cold tiles acting as a nice reminder that he is indeed still alive and well. Perhaps if he can just sit here for a few minutes then his head will clear up and he can pluck up the courage to face everybody again.

It takes Timmy awhile to realize that he’s been breathing mechanically and with a lot more effort than it should normally require. He holds his head in his hands and scrunches his eyes closed, completely embarrassed by his own set of actions and the road he traveled to get here. The reality of being sat in the middle of the bathroom floor, fighting back tears, when he’s meant to be _partying_ instead is quite frankly humiliating.

From somewhere in the distance, a tune is playing. It’s probably another damn singing tree and besides, Timmy can’t really decipher anything other than the ringing that’s taken over his ears.

What he finds is that the sound is coming from inside his jean pocket because, as if by some sort of miracle, Ace has decided to call. Timmy looks at the name and rolls his eyes. _So much for helping out._

He picks up the phone and tries to answer in his best monotone voice, “Yes?”

Ace replies, “Everything’s been sorted out now. I’m on my way back.”

Timmy snorts, “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered.”

“You have? That’s great! See, I told you they were nice, didn’t I? Have you met Trish? She’s-”

“No, I haven’t met Trish.” Timmy retorts, “I’m sat on the fucking bathroom floor, Ace. Your friends, well, they got comfortable very quickly. Probably don’t care whether I’m here or not anyways so… thank you for that.”

“Wh- what are you talking about? The floor- what are you doing _there?_ ”

“The first thing they said to me was “happy birthday”. _Happy birthday,_ Ace! What, did you expect me to just shut up and not ask questions?”

Timmy listens to the sound of Ace sighing on the other end.

“Okay, okay, I admit, that was wrong of me. I just thought that they might need a little bit more of a reason to show up at your house. I told them it was your birthday, as like, I don’t know, a justification?”

Timmy scoffs, “So you’re saying they wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t my birthday?”

“No! You know, that’s not what I meant, Timmy. I just- I worded it wrong. I’m sorry… I just wanted you to have fun, that’s all.”

Timmy shakes his head furiously, “Couldn’t just let me handle it on my own, could you?”

“You said you wanted my help.”

“Yes, your help! I didn’t need you to fucking _lie_ on my behalf!” Timmy has started to raise his voice now, getting more and more riled up the longer this continues. “And you know what, this party sucks anyway. There's barely enough people here and even then, I don’t know a single one of them. When Armie comes, he’ll practically be laughing at me. God, I can’t believe you ever convinced me to do this.” Timmy starts to feel the tears welling up behind his eyes. As angry as he is right now, he wishes Ace could at least come back soon and save him from this mess.

On the other side of the phone, he can hear the rustling of keys and what seems to be the slamming of a car door so it looks like Ace might have already returned.

His voice comes through again, “Look, I’m sorry I overstepped. Just let me make it up to you.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

There’s another rustling of keys and suddenly Ace is shouting, “Hey, are you guys drunks?”

Timmy hears a low rumble of noise in the background - something that might resemble a “yes” if he could hear any more clearly and then Ace blurts out “Perfect!”, presumably more to himself than to anyone else.

“What the hell are you even doing over there?”

“Bringing the party.”

Timmy quirks an eyebrow, “The fuck does that mean?”

“Just trust me. Stay on the phone.”

Timmy is reluctant to obey at first but he figures that it can’t possibly get any worse than this. He stays on the phone long enough to hear all the cheers and whoops that have broken out on the other end.

“Seriously, what are you-” His train of thought is interrupted by the sound of footsteps clanging on top of metal now.

No, wait-

_The noise is coming from Timmy’s own living room._

Or is it from outside his building complex entirely?

“Ace, I really don’t know what’s going on.”

“YOU SAID YOU WANTED A PARTY?” A familiar voice howls into Timmy’s apartment, causing him to jump up in horror. What follows is the roar of drunken men and women emptying out into Timmy’s home. Even though he’s safely locked away in the comfort of his own bathroom, the sheer volume of the crowd is deafening. Absolutely nothing could have prepared Timmy for this. He has no time to think about it - just hurries out of the room and scrambles to join the commotion.

“Holy shit.” Once outside, what first greets Timmy is the large cluster of strangers, already having mingled with Ace’s friends by the looks of it and _double holy shit,_ Ace is staring right at him with a smirk on his face. He seems to be pointing with his eyes, directing Timmy to look around the room.

What catches Timmy’s eye almost immediately is the tall figure leaning against one of his countertops, clad in all black; tight jeans and huge leather boots, making the blue of his eyes shine even more deeply than they did before and letting the golden skin of his arms pop deliciously against smooth muscle. He just radiates the very essence of the word “man” and Timmy wants to fucking climb him.

Armie Hammer’s standing right there in his kitchen and luckily, all of his attention is on Nick right now. They’re laughing about something and it’s a good thing too, that he hasn’t noticed the way Timmy’s legs are buckling.at the sight of him. Every cell in Timmy’s body is buzzing with something electric, something fiery, willing him to just drop to his knees right there, but as tempting as it is, Timmy knows that he has at least _some_ morals and that just wouldn’t be very polite of him.

Ace watches from across the crowd as his friend struggles to look put together. He looks back and forth between the two and smirks, feeling extremely cocky to be the one that got to walk Armie right into this mess. Once Timmy manages to catch his breath, he shoots his friend a look.

“Happy birthday.” Ace sing-songs on his way over to Timmy. “You like your gift?”

“My house is full of strangers.” He deadpans, “In all honestly though, I guess it takes the attention off of me for a while.”

“So you’re thanking me?”

“Ha, I didn’t say that.”

Ace frowns at him.

“Okay, maybe I am thanking you. Just don’t let it get to your head”

“Noted. I’m gonna go eat those lovely little macarons you’ve got over there.”

“Knock yourself out.”

Ace scurries away, leaving Timmy in the middle of the floor. He looks over at Armie again, this time to be greeted by a bright smile and Armie waving him over.

“Hi!” Armie calls out in Timmy’s direction and it’s like there’s a string pulling him forward, his body going limp as he floats towards the man.

“Hey,” Timmy says as soon as he steps into the kitchen.

Nick is grinning by Armie’s side, happily chewing on a Twizzler and Armie juts his chin towards the crowd, “So, what happened here?”

“Um… okay, so, this was actually gonna be more of, like, an intimate soiree? Because I thought that a party would be too tacky. But now we have a bunch of people and- oh God, it’s too tacky, isn’t it? I’m sorry about all this. You can leave if you want, I won’t be offended. It’s just- the truth is that I’ve been stressing about this all weekend and I’m gonna be honest I don’t know anybody here because you know I’ve just moved to town and-”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Armie stares at Timmy like he’s gone mad, “You’re upset… about this?”

Timmy blinks up at him.

“Yes. I threw a party and it’s a mess.”

Armie starts to laugh and Timmy shakes his head in not only confusion but offense. “Yeah, I know, it’s absolutely hilarious.”

Armie is catching his breath and wiping away invisible tears, “No! I’m not laughing at you, you banana. Of course you were stressed about it! You just moved into town, you’re not gonna have a million friends, Timmy. It’d be weird if you did.”

Timmy releases some of the tension from his shoulders and hums to himself. Thinking about it, he realises that Armie is probably right. It would have been weirder if he already knew everybody around here, barely a month after he moved.

“Don’t be sad, Timmy. You have a lot of cool stuff going on in your life. Great job, sweet apartment, plus you’re like a kick-ass career guy.”

Timmy looks down at his fingers and says coyly, “Well, I… I am a prime earner.”

“Hell yeah you are,” Armie responds, “Whatever that is.”

Timmy giggles.

“I mean, you’re crushing it. Look at you, just moved to town and you throw a big party. You’re fearless.”

 _Fearless._ Timmy feels the word punch right through his chest.

He’s in awe of the kindness that Armie’s been showing him with nothing, to Timmy’s knowledge, that has justified it in the first place.

Armie Hammer, who exudes the most casual confidence Timmy’s ever seen and who talks with the kind of velvety timbre that could make you believe absolutely anything at all, is actually complimenting him. There are no ulterior motives, nothing that Armie would get out of this and Timmy doesn’t know what he did to deserve it but he gladly would trade all the gold in the world just to be able to listen to him talk like this forever.

“So you said you really don’t know anybody here?”

Timmy is shy when he admits that he’s been a bit scared to make friends and that’s when Armie wraps an arm around his shoulder and smiles, “No problem, I know a few guys here. Lemme show you around.”

They start to make their way through the crowded apartment, the heat, and the music pulling people together. They greet various kinds of people, all the while Armie has Timmy securely wrapped under his arm.

“Ok, this is Arielle.”

Timmy is polite when meeting everyone.

“And this is Chuck, hello.”

They bump into Nick in the crowd, “You’ve obviously met Nick, oh and Kyle’s probably getting high somewhere.”

Armie smiles as someone else comes into view, “Oh, and this guy!”

“Hi!” Timmy smiles at the man in sunglasses and then they’re walking away again, “What-What’s his name?”

“I don’t know, I just call him “this guy”,” Armie says casually, and Timmy bursts out laughing.

Later into the night, drinks are flowing more freely, one shot melting into five and before you know it, you’re lying face down on the cold hard floor. Thankfully, Timmy doesn’t let himself get into that kind of trouble just yet. He’s been dancing for most of the night, the music having transitioned from your stereotypical party anthems to some older, throwback songs.

For the time being, Timmy has splayed himself out on the couch. His head dangles lazily off the edge and his feet rest in Ace’s lap. As the music plays, Timmy wiggles his body, trying his best to always show his appreciation for the music even when he's practically immobile.

Leaning up against a wall is Armie. The two catch each other's eye and nod as a way of acknowledging each other.

Armie, who had decided to take things slow, clutches a bottle of beer in one hand and bounces between different topics of conversation with one of Timmy’s neighbours, a man in a beard and glasses, who decided to crash the party. Armie doesn’t remember his name but then again, he probably didn’t even ask in the first place.

“Yeah, I was never great at school. I wish I could have been like a doctor or a lawyer but… I just took it as an opportunity to fuck around.” Armie says honestly because somehow they had reached the subject of childhood.

“Dude, let me tell you something right now. Being good at school means nothing. Fucking nothing.” The guy explains. “Like, see him?” He points to Timmy who’s across the room now, staggering on his feet as he munches on a set of mini donuts that have been stuffed onto his fingertips. “He went _Harvard._ ”

Armie smirks, “Okay?”

“And he’s a _mess._ ”

Timmy looks up briefly to take notice of the two staring at him. His cheeks are stuffed. He looks like a deer in the headlights. Armie can make out him mouthing the word “What?” as a blush forms high on his cheeks.

Armie laughs and turns back to the neighbour, “Yeah, well at least he’s educated. I was horrible at school but that’s because instead of reading their stupid books I was playing basketball.”

“But you’re, like, totally rich and successful now, right?” The guy asks.

Armie shakes his head, “Not at all.” He sighs and takes a swig of his beer, “But I’m cool, and that’s what really matters.” The party lasts until the early hours of the morning until people start remembering their responsibilities as working adults. One by one, they leave Timmy’s apartment until the only ones he has to worry about are those that have passed out on the floor, blissfully unaware where their friends have gone off to.

Nevertheless, Armie is still hanging around as well as Ace and a few of his friends. Once Timmy manages to get the last of the random drunkards out, he falls back onto his couch and closes his eyes, happy to just let the cushions swallow him up.

Soon after, there’s a heaviness pushing down on his right side. Timmy cracks one eye open to see that Armie has sat down next to him; his head falling backward a look of pure bliss on his face. Timmy thinks it's incredible that even after a long night like this one, Armie looks just as handsome as ever. The outline of his jaw is so sharp and defined that when he swallows, it juts out in a way that has Timmy completely entranced, even more so than he already was.

Timmy smiles to himself because if he could, he would live in this weird in-between forever: the moments just before the party ends where everybody feels like they're dreaming and nobody speaks. All you can do is smile at each other and bask in the hazy after-glow.

Ace gets up from the chair he’s been sat in, legs shaking slightly, “I should go. Trish just called us an Uber 'cause I am... wuz-asted, which is a word I just learned.” He stumbles over to Timmy and taps his nose, “Boop. You threw a great party.”

“No, _we_ threw a great party.”

“Damn straight. High five me.” Timmy’s eyes are half-closed. He holds his palm out in the general direction. Ace goes to slap his palm and so Timmy follows suit. What was meant to be a firm high five turns into a sad brushing of fingertips as both men’s hands fall loosely to the ground. "God."

"Okay, it’s time for you to show Uncle Ace where the front door is.” Ace says as he wobbles towards the exit, knocking over Timmy’s beloved General Gordon on the way.

Timmy hoists himself up off the couch to help get the door open for him.

“That was fun.” Timmy says.

“It really was. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself in the end, even if I was a complete dick.” His voice drops, “But _God,_ I need to get home.”

Timmy lets him pass through the door, “Yeah you do, man. See you soon.”

“See ya!” Ace and the rest of his crew finally hobble out of Timmy’s apartment, leaving all but one man and Timmy is reluctant to turn around.

When he does he finds that Armie’s hunched over his phone, reading a text.

Timmy fiddles with the bottom of his hoodie and sways awkwardly for a while. He finally speaks up, “Hey, so, um… Thanks for coming to the party. I hope you had fun.”

Armie looks at him and smiles “Yeah it was great. I don’t know if I can walk yet but eh, I’ll figure it out.”

“Haha, yeah you do that.” Timmy’s shifts from foot to foot, watching as Armie mulls over another text. There’s something bothering him, clearly. Timmy just needs to know _what._

“Um… is everything okay?”

“Uh... no, it's… just Valencia. She’s getting, you know, stressed and I was just trying to calm her down.”

Timmy's eyes widen “Oh my God, I hope I'm not causing any problems.”

“Hey, no, no, no, no." Armie reassures him, "It was just that I realized, you know, I-I shouldn't have listened to her. I mean, I shouldn't be afraid of my girlfriend, right? So I told her, I’m allowed to hang out with whoever I want. No harm done.” Armie says and then starts rubbing at the side of his neck, “Okay, yeah, actually it was a little scary...”

At that, Timmy drops his eyes to the floor, feeling the shame rise up his cheeks and _knowing_ that he had let himself get way too carried away tonight. He curses himself silently for intruding on Armie like that. God, he should also be allowed to talk to his girlfriend without Timmy making it about himself! He decides to change the subject, tugging on a loose curl so that, hopefully, Armie doesn't notice the way that he's blushing.

“Yeah. Actually, you know, I faced a fear earlier and it turned out pretty okay.” He says quietly.

“You’re right.” Armie shoves his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and gets up. “You know, from now on, uh, since we're friends, we should just, you know, hang out whenever we want to, don't you think?”

“Yeah, that…” Timmy bites his lip and thinks for a moment, “Fuck it. I mean, yeah, I would love to. Let’s do it.”

Armie nods, “I had a great time today."

Timmy keeps stumbling over his words. He feels like a bumbling idiot when he says, “Thanks. Thank you. I'm glad you did.” and Armie crosses over him to walk towards the door.

“I should probably get going.” He says.

“Mhm,” Timmy can feel his heart in his throat as he walks with him to the door. He doesn’t even want to let him go just yet but of course, he’s left with no choice. The two stand in the entryway for a moment, just looking at each other until Timmy decides it’s time to break the silence, “Well, see you later, Armie.” He says and waves timidly in his direction.

Armie takes one step back before using two fingers to salute Timmy goodbye.

It’s suddenly in this moment that Timmy truly forgets how to breathe because before he knows it, Armie’s looking directly into his eyes and flashing him a coy smile.

No, not just any smile but _that_ smile - that fucking smile, that when he does it, his eyes smile too and it’s that _very_ look that Timmy has had in the back burner of his mind for way too long now.

“Later,” Armie says, and then he’s gone in what feels like a flash because everything after that moment is a blur. Timmy can’t even remember what had happened in the first place, his mind juggling through the memories of their past. It’s all flickers of light in his head, flashing almost as brightly as that damn smile Armie gave him - that smile that Timmy just loves so much. The worst part of it all is that he already misses him - misses him like he always has and at this rate, Timmy doesn’t think he’ll ever get to _stop_ missing him.

Timmy thinks about how well it all turned out in the end. Not only did he conquer his fears but he was also blessed with the gift of getting hang out _one on one_ with Armie.

However successful the party had been, it's safe to say that Timmy has been absolutely partied out because he doesn't even make it to the couch before passing out on the living room floor, eventually to fall into one of the deepest and most rewarding slumbers of his life.


	5. I Get to Spend Time With Armie!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get closer as they get to spend more and more time in each other's company...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly I couldn't get my fanart done in time with school and everything. But hopefully next week it will be up! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy their dumb convos about silly things lolol I have to say the next chapter will definitely get a little spicy so prepare for that! <3

Armie’s eyes were the best of all.

At a glance, they were just the same as any others: stereotypically beautiful in that Western kind of way, and any normal person would have paid them little to no mind. 

Timmy, however, was obsessed.

He had studied the contours of Armie’s face in his mind, thinking that somehow if he could just learn it from memory, he wouldn’t have to keep suffering until the next time he could see him. Maybe if he just knew the colours of his eyes and the shape of his lips, he wouldn’t have to stare so long whenever Armie talked to him. 

Because the truth is that this was dangerous. Timmy had even considered backing off slightly, letting Armie down gently until eventually Armie would get bored of him and lose his number. But no, Armie was his friend now and it was only fair that Timmy kept in regular contact with him as much as he had said he would.

Timmy thinks back to the previous week and remembers that it was Monday that they decided to grab pizza together.

Armie had suggested that he come along to one of his favourite pizza places along with Nick, Kyle, and Daniel. Timmy had been nervous, hung up on how to act and how to feel but when he had gotten there and sat down, Armie sat right down next to him, trapping Timmy in the far corner of the booth with the heat radiating between their bodies the whole time. It was distracting, to say the least.

From this position, Armie’s crotch was directly in shot, always just _there,_ taunting him. Occasionally, Timmy would catch himself staring for just a bit too long, letting his mind wander to all the things he would do if only Armie were his…

He had to suppress those thoughts. 

Especially the ones about how he would much rather prefer to sit in Armie’s lap because, if he was being honest, the tattered old cushions splayed out on the booth seats were doing absolutely nothing for Timmy’s ass.

Armie’s thighs were the perfect solution and, God, did they look firm that day. Armie had worn pants that were just a little _too_ tight that managed to highlight the outline of his leg muscles just enough to make the butterflies in Timmy’s chest skip the fluttering and go straight to cardiac arrest level panic.

It was like he knew what he was doing. 

He _had_ to know, in some capacity.

How on earth could he have not picked up on the way Timmy had blushed when the two of them touched hands, reaching for the ketchup bottle? As soon as they had made contact, Timmy gasped involuntarily and started blurting out his apologies. What followed was a hearty laugh from Armie that told Timmy he had nothing to worry about. Armie was even saying out loud “No harm, no harm!” in his usual carefree tone, which was a phrase the man had adopted in the time period between summer camp and now.

Timmy adored that.

He loved the way Armie would always throw it out there like it was his catchphrase - something was so intrinsically _Armie_ about that. He seemed to have the world under his control, telling people that things would be alright and somehow, someway they always were. Timmy just wished he could’ve been there to see this transformation. Wednesday came and Timmy had called him over to his apartment. His garbage disposal had been blocked and he needed someone to come fix it. Armie had suggested that he do it and Timmy hesitated, not only anxious to invite him into his house but to be alone with the guy.

In the end, Timmy had decided that he quite liked the idea of Armie in his house doing his handy work for him. After all, it was a harmless favour - something he should appreciate about his friend in the way that friends do. 

Even more than that though, it would supply Timmy with the fuel, once it was over, to continue with the rest of his week. If he was lucky enough, maybe Armie would be wearing one of his deadly t-shirts: the ones that cling to the muscles of his back just so. Maybe Timmy could steal a few glances at his shoulder blades, watching them work underneath the fabric. Or maybe he would get a few shots of that sweet, sweet ass whenever Armie would turn around, telling himself that it’s okay if only for a second. But of course, he knew that he’d probably end up taking a few more. For science.

What killed Timmy the most, however, was knowing that long ago, that body was all his. What seemed like such a distant memory, long forgotten and dead, was actually a reality at some point in the timeline. What had gone wrong? 

Timmy had been free to touch that skin once, even pull, scratch, _bite_ at it just because he had wanted to – because _Armie_ wanted him to.

When the time came, Armie had shown up looking very rugged, dressed in an old t-shirt and baggy jeans. He was covered from head to toe in paint like he had been working in those clothes all day. He stepped into Timmy’s apartment in huge black boots and was already heading towards the sink before Timmy could really process anything. 

“So, what seems to be the problem here?” He had said. It was so stereotypical of Armie to say something so cheesy and somehow manage to make it sound sexy.

“I tried to shove some old chicken down the drain.” Timmy had replied, a little embarrassed by the truth.

“Ah, that old trick.” He instantly got to work on unblocking Timmy’s sink, rummaging through all the different pipes and tubes, Timmy none-the-wiser. For all he knew, Armie could be completely destroying his kitchen.

When Armie had finished, Timmy thought to ask him where he learnt to do stuff like that, why he seemed to know all the ins and outs of plumbing. Armie had shaken his head and told him that he makes it sound so “cool” but really all it was, was that his father had taught him a multitude of things like this, so it was really no big deal at all.

“Don’t be so modest, it’s a good thing to know! All I ever learnt were the intricacies of the acquisition and sale of property.” Timmy said, making a face.

“Ha, now who’s being modest? You learnt musical theatre, didn’t you? Studied it like, every night.”

Timmy cringed at the memory, “Yeah, well, not much came out of it.”

“Nonsense, you know how to sing now. That’s a plus.”

Timmy snorted and brushed the comment off. The urge to say “not very well” was just dancing on his lips but he managed to resist the temptation. Instead, he had offered Armie a drink as a way of saying “thank you” just before he left.

Unfortunately, Armie shook his head and told Timmy that he had plans with Valencia “in a few” to which Timmy was forced to vanquish a look of obvious disappointment.

“No harm.” Armie had said as he stood in Timmy’s doorway for the second time now.

“No harm.” Timmy laughed and let him get on his way. 

He would later stay up all night trying not to think about the way Armie had towered over him, always making him feel small and protected; had offered Timmy nothing but kindness; showed up at his door even when he was clearly occupied and given Timmy help, never once acting like he was owed something in return. Timmy had never known someone to be so unconditionally loving and it was eating away at his mind. 

He tried to sleep but his thoughts kept turning to the way it used to be. If only they had met at a different time, in a different place, they could’ve made it work. Lying in bed all alone, Timmy would think about how, once upon a time, their bodies slotted together perfectly, He used to love hiding his face in Armie's neck and Armie would respond by pulling the boy even closer, wrapping him up in his arms, telling him he was perfect.

And then Timmy wondered if it could still be the same. Or had their bodies learnt to forget over time? Gradually, so as to not alert suspicion but just enough that the urge to bury your face in another man’s arms was no longer muscle memory?

Long ago, Timmy had been so sure that nobody else could take his place. Now, thinking about Valencia in his position was like seeing someone else living in your childhood home - like watching a new actor take up the role of a character the old one just couldn’t play anymore.

_So, I’d like to revoke my response to you as you left my apartment, Armie._

_Yes, harm._

_Very much so harm._

On Saturday, Timmy had invited him to his favourite boba shop. He wanted to invite him in, let him see just how wonderful it is. Hopefully, they could make some new memories here, and then when Timmy craves him most, in ways that friends aren’t meant to crave each other, he could come here and reminisce about their time together. It was the perfect plan. He just needed to act normal.

When the moment arrived, Timmy had sat down in his favourite corner, as usual, playing idly with his fingers and making small talk with Kai who stood behind the counter. In the time it took for Armie to arrive, he had ordered two cups of tea already. He was drinking his second, considering a third even, when Armie walked in.

He was striding towards the table, wearing a formal dress shirt and khakis. There was an easy smile on his face like he was genuinely pleased to see him.

“Hi! Wow, you’re dressed up.” Timmy said before he could stop himself.

“Yeah, well,” Armie stood in front of Timmy for a moment and looked down on him, “My father and I had a talk with investors. Say they want a 30% return on the money if they choose to invest.” He sighed and sat down in the chair opposite Timmy. “It’s a bunch of complicated mess, really. My father doesn’t even let me say all that much. I guess my job is just to sit and look pretty.” Armie had joked. 

He was absentmindedly unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them up to reveal two golden forearms. He then sat back in his chair, put his hands in his pockets, and spread his legs slightly. The fabric of his pants was being pulled across the width of his groin, clinging onto his hip bones and Timmy had immediately crossed his legs just a little tighter than was necessary. 

It was probably his own sick bias that made him think this way, but he could’ve sworn that Armie looked so _smug._ It was like he could sense how much he was affecting Timmy without really doing anything at all. Perhaps the tiny way in which Timmy had shifted in his seat rang alarm bells in the unconscious parts of his brain, made him act cockier. Perhaps it was the way Timmy’s pupils had immediately dilated as he towered over him that struck up a confidence within Armie and caused him to go along with whatever torturous thing his body wanted to tease Timmy with next. 

Although, In the same breath, Timmy was willing to bet that he was like this with everyone. The tension was high but could that have been Timmy’s own predisposed understanding of the whole thing?

Even so, the thought of Armie knowing in some way was so undeniably hot that Timmy had to bite down on the inside of his cheek so as to stop any pathetic noises from jumping out.

“So, what have you been up to?”

_Oh, you know, the usual. Staying up late and thinking of nothing but you._

“Well, I mean- a lot, really. I managed to help this guy sell his home. Another client with a receding hairline and bad breath. That’s all I ever seem to get.” Timmy laughed, “No, but in all seriousness, I was happy that I could give him what he wanted after so much back and forth. It was just a relief to finally be able to let him go.”  
Armie nodded slowly, “Hmm, I see we’re not so different after all.”

“Huh?”

“Bad breath, receding hairlines. I’ve lost count of how many toupees we’ve had turn up at the hotel, demanding some kind of deal with us. My fathers included.”  
Timmy snorted and ended up choking on his drink. “Yeah, well. It could be worse. I don’t really have a say in who I’m making deals with. Darryl will usually only give me another old man and that’s that.”

“Hm, I guess it really could be worse.”

The two continued to catch up on each other’s week but it wasn’t long before Kai had rounded the corner with a bright smile on his face. He held a pen and a pad in his little hands and greeted Timmy with a friendly pat on his shoulder. He then spoke up in broken English, “Welcome, welcome.” He turned to look at Armie with curiosity, “Oh! Timmy new friend, yes?”

“Nice to meet you.” Armie said.

It was at this moment that Timmy had all of a sudden been overcome with a strange kind of ego-boost to his system. It was the exchange; hearing Armie’s name be mentioned only secondary to his, as if he existed subject to Timmy, not individually. He couldn’t help it. This was an oddly gratifying feeling. 

He shook the thought off quickly and smiled up at Kai.

“Hey, you wouldn’t mind getting me another glass of oolong, would you? It was just so good.” 

Kai nodded and jotted down Timmy’s request, “Absolutely. Yes. That does nicely.” He then turned back to Armie, “And for you, sir?”

Armie was looking down at the brightly coloured menu that had been placed in front of him. He scanned the variety of different bubble drinks that they had to offer and asked, “Wow. So, do you make all of these?”

“Yes, yes. My brain always working so fast. I make all the teas you see here. You will like, I am sure.”

Armie took his bottom lip between his teeth and considered his options, “They all look so good… I have no idea, really-”

“This one you get.” Kai said, pointing to the picture of a bright orange and yellow drink, “This lychee, you will like. Timmy drinking this every day. You will like too, I’m sure of it.”

Armie’s head snapped up immediately and he looked at Timmy with a goofy smile plastered on his face. He seemed to really like the idea of Timmy sitting here and drinking nothing but tea for hours on end. Even his voice seemed brighter when he said, “In that case, I’ll have one medium-sized lychee, please. Make it however you think is best.” He handed him back the menu, “Thank you.”

Kai finished up writing down their order. He chirped up again, “Okay, one moment for me, please. I will make the best tea! The best tea for Timmy and his friend. One moment,” And with that, he turned around and set off to make their drinks.

Timmy and Armie were left to return to their conversation. It started off slow but soon enough they had picked up a rhythm that worked for them and were bouncing off of each other effortlessly. It was almost as if they had never spent so much time apart, the way Armie was so easily making Timmy laugh like a kid again. He had forgotten the last time he could really enjoy himself like this.

About 10 minutes later, Kai returned with their drinks. He set them down on the table. Timmy and Armie had thanked him but then Kai was pulling out another menu, showing them all his different flavour combinations and insisting that they give them a try. He hurried off into the kitchen and came back with a tray full of little taste tests.

“Please, feel free to try them out and tell me what you think? I would appreciate it very much. Especially you, Timmy. You seem to know best.”

They nodded and got to work on sampling the different flavours. 

Five minutes later, Timmy had managed to finish his tea and was nibbling on the leftover tapioca. Armie, on the other hand, was enjoying it but was only three-quarters of the way through.

“Honestly, you’re like a little treeshrew, sometimes.”

Timmy stopped chewing and looked up at Armie in astonishment, “The fuck is a _treeshrew?_ ”

“It’s a kind of tiny squirrel-like creature.” Armie shrugged. “They like to eat fruit and have a higher brain to body mass ratio than any other mammal.”

Timmy smiled. The shit that Armie could pull was astonishing. Timmy wanted to explore the deepest parts of his mind, see what kind of decisions his brain made that ended up in him saying things like this.

“And that just screams “Timothée” to you, does it?”

Armie had grinned back at him, “Absolutely it does,” and he was greeted by a kick to his shin from underneath the table.

An hour later and the two men had just about sampled every kind of tea in the world. They leaned back in their chairs, feeling satisfied and full. Timmy was hugging a cushion against himself, sitting with his feet up on the chair in a cross-legged position. He was giggling about something stupid Armie had said and Armie was playing dumb, poking him, and asking “What? What’s so funny?” Their afternoon had been filled with moments like this and at some point, the conversation had even turned to summer camp.

“Be honest,” Timmy said a little breathless from all the laughter, “What did you think when you first saw me?”

“Hmmm…” Armie came to rest his chin on one hand, “I don’t really know what I thought, to be honest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Timmy asked, tilting his head to one side.

“Well, if I remember correctly, the first time I saw you, you were zombie-walking into the common room one night in boxers and a t-shirt. You came to write your name down. An audition list, or something.”

Timmy blinked. “What?”

Armie sat back and waited for the bomb to go off. Timmy was all-of-a-sudden hit with the realization. 

“You saw me signing up to be in South Pacific?”

“Mhm, it was like 3 AM and I couldn’t sleep. I went downstairs to get some snacks and you were just… there. I guess you didn’t hear me pass by, so I just stood watching you from the kitchen. You had this like, look on your face of pure concentration and I-“

“And you didn’t even say a word.” Timmy feigned disgust, “Creep.”

Armie chuckled. “You know, it would’ve been much creepier if I _had_ said something. I figured you probably didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Yeah, I mean, it was pretty embarrassing having to write my name down under “Dancer 3”.”

Armie shrugged before popping a ball of tapioca in his mouth, “You were doing something you loved.”

Timmy considered this for a moment and then thought back to what Armie had told him, “But wow, I really thought nobody else would be up at that time. I didn’t want anybody to see me, you know, doing that,” He squirmed uncomfortably, remembering the horrible names he’d been called one too many times before.

“Is that why you were wearing those god-awful slippers?”

Timmy’s eyes widened. He held a hand to his mouth and whispered, “No…” The memories of his younger self wearing nothing but ugly tartan print came flooding back. “Holy shit! You met my fucking slippers before you met me? God, you must’ve thought I was such an idiot!”

Armie spoke with certainty, “Not at all.” He looked serious for a good two seconds before bursting out into laughter. “Okay the slippers were tacky; I have to admit. But you liked them. That’s all that matters, at the end of the day.”

Timmy groaned and shook his head at the thought, “I was such a mess.”

“Hey, Timmy, no you weren’t. You weren’t a mess at all.” Armie tried to comfort him, “Oh, and didn’t you tell me they were super expensive? Remember that? You told me you were so happy when your mom bought those-” He gestured something vaguely with his hands, “Things? That’s something, isn’t it?”

Timmy lifted his gaze to see if Armie was making fun of him or not, but his eyes were unblinking and honest. Timmy couldn’t help but add softly, “They were custom-fitted…”

“Yes! Custom-fitted! Top of the range. How many people can say they have custom-fitted slippers?”

“Nobody. Absolutely nobody, Armie, because no normal person does something like that.”

Armie rolled his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment, would you?”

Timmy sighed in defeat, “Okay, okay. Thank you.” Then he was thinking back to the original topic at hand. Timmy asked, “You never thought to tell me about that night at least? There was me thinking we first met at the dance.”

“We did! That was where we first spoke, right?”

Timmy nodded.

“Right. So, what would I have said to you then? That I happened to see you half-naked one night and didn’t think to say anything because I was also half-naked, not to mention two years older than you? I didn’t need you thinking I was some stalker right off the bat.” 

Timmy laughed, “Well when you put it like that…”

“Yeah, when I put it like that…”

The two smiled at each other and then Armie took a sip of his drink. He put the cup down slowly and looked off into the distance as if pondering something.

“To answer your question though, I thought you were amazing. Like, so energetic all the time. I thought it might’ve been because you were younger than me but no, that’s not the whole reason anyway. I guess you just had this way of looking at things that I had never even considered before. I don’t know. It was-“ He trailed off, “You’re great like that.”

Timmy was listening to Armie talk with just as much intent as he had listened to anything else. Yet, something was different. He couldn’t tell if the way his heart was swelling was a good pain or a bad one. It was just a pain. Like the thought of Armie having his own perception and understanding of him - the thought of Armie having formed a specific image of Timmy in his head that could refer back to any time he wanted. From what Timmy had heard, this image was nothing but good. 

But could that then mean that Armie was regretting his decision? Could he still feel what Timmy no doubt had been feeling the whole time?

It seemed that their time together (as limited as it was) had actually had an impact on Armie in the long run and Timmy was shocked to think that he never considered this before, at least not in that much depth. Come to think of it, had he really even considered Armie at all?

Timmy looked down at his hands and hummed softly at the memories. He was suddenly feeling very nostalgic and was trying to find a good way to return the favour - mirror Armie’s affection without crossing the line.

“You’re great company, Armie,” was the only thing he could think to say. Because it was true. He hadn’t known anybody to be so good at conversation or… anything, really. 

“No, I’m not,” Armie sighed, “That’s not why _you_ were great. You were probably better off without me, I mean, Jesus, I don’t even deserve to be sitting here with you right now. The way I ended things-“ He suddenly paused, and Timmy leaned forward in an attempt to reassure him. He was quickly becoming aware of the fact that Armie seemed to be putting himself to blame much more than was necessary. He mumbled, “It’s just mind-blowing how you still talk to me.”

“What? Hey! Of course I’d still talk to you, you’re like, so awesome. I’m the lucky one here. If anything, I should be insecure right now.” Timmy curved his lips into a shy smile, hoping to show Armie his utmost sincerity because the fact of the matter was that Timmy hadn’t held a grudge at all. He was appreciative of every second they spent together. 

Armie smiled back and for a moment he looked like he was okay but the illusion was shattered the moment a new worry line took place in the center of his forehead. 

Timmy huffed and decided to try something else. He leaned in close and said, “You know… maybe I was wrong. You’re really not that fun to be around after all.” He smirked, feeling all too pleased with himself.

Armie perked up at that. He shot one eyebrow up in challenge, “Oh no? You don’t think I’m cool?”

Timmy put a finger to his lips and pretended to pull a zip across his mouth.

“That’s funny. You were kissing my ass only a second ago-“

“I wasn’t kissing any kind of ass, thank you. You were just so sulky and needy that I had to cheer you up.”

“I seem to have a hard time believing that’s what you really think of me.” 

Timmy grinned, “That’s exactly what I think of you.” He said, completely unmoving and Armie had stopped for a moment just to hold eye contact with him. 

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. It was like he was searching for something. He gently rubbed at his bottom lip before throwing one hand up in the air in finality.

“Hm, well okay. I guess you woke up extra bratty today. You know what, I take back my earlier statement. You’re more of a monkey than a treeshrew.”

“A fucking monkey.”

“Yep, unless of course you prefer the squirrel.”

“I’m not a-“

“Monkey, it is.”

Timmy fought back a smile, “Dick.” He muttered.

“You love it.”

* * *

“You loved it?” 

What had seemed like a minute, sat in the swanky bar of some club, thinking about the Armie who was currently sat right in front of him, might have actually been several minutes in which Timmy had been zoning out completely. He feels the imprint of his hand on his chin from where it’s been resting the whole time and he blinks rapidly, trying to snap out of his daydream.

That’s when an explosion of effusive laughter erupts to the right of him. Nick, Daniel, Kyle, and Armie are laughing about something - probably the same thing they’d been laughing about for the past hour now. Girls and guys and frat parties. 

Timmy had tried to seem interested but how could he when the only light he really had was Armie? The rest of the world had faded into the darkness by now and quite frankly, Timmy was doing very little to fight it. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the crowd. Either way, it was so easy to get distracted by him.

After all, he didn’t ask for this, whatever “this” was. 

Or maybe he really had.

Did it even matter anymore? Was passive self-awareness just as bad as being active in his pursuit?

The topic of conversation had rapidly moved on to something a little more substantial. Nick, Kyle, and Daniel were discussing the movie they had all seen earlier that day. A movie that Timmy had been sure was a parody but now that he’s had time to think it over, it might have just been a really shitty “Fault In Our Stars” rip-off.

A week had passed since boba and treeshrews and custom-fitted slippers.

Timmy was moving up in the world, after being added to the official group chat and welcomed into their friend group.

He was sipping on a cocktail, thinking back to the day where things had been so easy-going with Armie and they could laugh about absolutely anything at all. It hadn’t slowed down by any means but they hadn’t gotten the chance to do the whole one-on-one thing again ever since then.

“Yeah, I loved it.” Nick was saying.

“We’re talking about the same movie, right?” Armie chimed in, “The one where a bunch of cancer patients become friends and cry the whole time?”

“Yes! Wait, you guys really didn’t like it?”

Daniel mutters, “I could’ve done without the cancer, to be honest,” never once looking up from the table.

“But then they wouldn’t be the _Cancer Crew._ That’s crucial, ya know.” Nick points out, wagging a finger at them.

The group looks at each other blankly.

“What about you, Timmy?”

“It was shit. Cancer Crew... I mean, the title alone told us everything we needed to know from the off.”

“Right!?” Armie exclaims, “I just don’t know why we had to see _that_ one specifically, out of literally anything else.”

“Because Nick insisted that we see something heart-warming for once,” Daniel adds.

“Yeah, cheers, Nick.”

“Cheers, Nick.”

“Fine.” Nick holds his hands up in defeat. “You got me. I guess I won’t be choosing the movies anymore. Good luck guys, ‘cause I honestly don’t know how I’ll be able to sit through another Fast and Furious.”

Armie takes a swig of his beer, “Cope.”

The group laughs and then suddenly Kyle’s jumping up, out of his seat, “Yo, aren’t we completely forgetting something right now?”

The table blinks up at him.

“Beach? Hello? We’re supposed to be going next weekend? Why has nobody even mentioned it yet?”

“Oh yeah…” Armie turns to Timmy and explains, “We go to the beach every year. Have done since high school. It’d be great if you could come along.”

“Are you serious?”

Armie nods his head slowly. 

“Wow. Totally, I’m in.” Timmy says brightly. In his excitement, he had forgotten about the rest of the group, “Oh, excuse me. If it’s alright with you guys, of course.” He gestures towards the others and purses his lips. 

It had been a quiet concern of Timmy’s that maybe he was acting as an intrusion on their friend group or the classic tag-along that was only included because they felt sorry for him.

He waited.

Kyle was suddenly sitting down, using the table to rest his palms there. He sighed, shook his head, and looked at Timmy solemnly, “No, no, no.” He tuts, “I’m afraid that can’t happen, Timmy. There’s only enough room for the four of us, sorry.”

The rest of the group are avoiding eye contact at all costs and Timmy gulps, feeling stupid for having gotten so excited.

He waves his hand casually, “Oh, no worries, guys. It’s fine. I probably have plans next week anyway.” He says, practically mumbling the last part because Timmy knows damn well he doesn’t have plans. 

“Hey, I’m kidding!” Kyle says instantly, “Of course you can come along. We’re like, in desperate need of some new company and Nick’s a fucking nightmare, you can keep him occupied.” There’s a cheeky grin on his face and Timmy is instantly relieved of his worries. 

“Oh my God, really? Thank you!”

“Yeah, it’s cool.” Kyle smiles at him but it’s not even a second before a hard fist lands on his chest. He withdraws, “Hey! What are you-“

“I'm not a fucking child!” Nick is protesting. He looks at Kyle with disdain and the altercation abruptly sets off a playfight between the two men.

Armie rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to Timmy. He flashes him a knowing smile - a look that says he understands and Timmy flashes one right back, “Forget about them, it’s gonna be great.” He says softly and the tenderness of it overwhelms Timmy with a warm feeling inside. 

It’s then that Timmy realises he no longer has to study the contours of his face or the colour of his eyes. Everything had been written right there, all along, in his _words._ Armie looks so happy here and it’s just like he promised he would be, all that time ago on the streets of New York. Timmy basks in the warmth for a little while and realises that getting to see Armie happy is, quite literally, the greatest gift he has ever known in his whole life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤


	6. Why Is Armie Looking at Me Like That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lovely trip with friends...

It hadn’t been a hard task, not by a long shot. The act of going on a beach trip with friends… Simple. And yet, so easy for Timmy to get wrapped up in something he swore to never get wrapped up in.

The scene was set: party bus (hired by Timmy himself as a last-minute surprise for the group), beach towels, swimming trunks, yada yada. He had been talking about the trip all week to an ever so intrigued Ace, made little hypotheticals in his head about what could go wrong before they actually did, and yet somehow he had never anticipated _this._

He was in some deep shit, that’s for sure and it had started with the hand on his hip.

Sure, people do this to others all the time. They pass by, _“Sorry, lemme just squeeze right past ya!”_ , brush a hand against your back, move on over to the side. Timmy would’ve been fine with any of those things. But it wasn’t one of those things.

His hips were still burning alight from the pressure applied directly to his hip bone, like an itch in his throat, a reminder.

Something so incredibly constant and distracting that you feel yourself go insane with feeling and yet there’s nothing more you can do nor say that will make it go away. You suck it up and continue with your day, eventually thinking back to the time where the itch in your throat was the most important thing in your life. How it seems so foolish of you now - to think that not a single soul on earth knew of your suffering so after all that, did you really suffer at all?

That’s what Armie had taught him the day of the beach trip: that he had to be crazy because nothing else could explain the things that Armie was saying and doing and justify them as innocent.

Because he wanted Armie to be innocent more than anything else.

If not, then Timmy had willingly roped in a man with a girlfriend and had been feigning a friendship with him the whole time.

* * *

“Did somebody order a party bus?” Bright, beach-ready Timmy had pulled up to the parking lot of Armie’s house with a huge smile on his face and a very humble 10x3 _bus_ behind him. “I heard you guys wanted a ride?” Four open-mouthed friends, lathered in sun-screen and tanning lotion, watch as Timmy dismounts the vehicle and takes a step towards them.

“Well whad-ya think?” He says.

The group is at a loss for words. Their eyes scan the black elephantine monstrosity parked in front of them and they turn to each other as if looking for answers.

“It’s…. bus-y,” Someone comments.

“Huge.” Another chimes in.

Mhm.” Timmy inspects the vehicle, rubs one finger against the metal, and sighs, “It appealed to me in that way.”

“It looks great,” Armie says, holding a crate of craft beer in his hands.

Timmy beams at him, “It does, doesn’t it?” He then gestures towards the other three, “Right, well, I can practically hear you begging to get inside so let’s jump in. I brought drinks, of course.” He turns to make his way back inside the bus, grabbing onto the handrails for support and climbing the elaborate staircase. He manages to make it up two steps before he hears the sound of high-heels on concrete.

Timmy turns his head.

Behind Armie is a brown-haired woman in a bikini and shimmery pink sarong, closing up the door of her apartment complex. She puts on a pair of sunglasses, adjusts her heels, and strolls towards the group.

Timmy squints, “Who’s that?”

Armie swivels his head to look at the girl, “Oh, that’s Valencia.” He says casually, “Right, I’m just gonna go ahead and see this bus. ‘Scuse me.” He steps forward, reaches up to catch a handrail, and climbs up the stairs, nudging past Timmy on the way.

The rest of the group follows suit, scooting past Timmy who’s still stuck on the staircase, frozen in place. He doesn’t even feel them pass by. All he knows is the beautiful woman strutting up to the bus, confidence oozing from every step she takes.

“Ladies first,” She says.

“Hm?” Timmy looks down at the woman now by his feet. She’s got one hand on her hip. “Oh, right! Yes, of course,” Timmy shifts his body so as to let her pass on by.

Valencia takes one step up, puts both hands on the handrails but instead of getting in, crowds right into Timmy’s space. They are so close, noses almost touching and everyone else has already gone inside.

She opens her mouth, never lets Timmy out of sight, “Thank you so much, Timothée.” Her breath is fire and ice rolled into one.

Timmy blinks, trying to get a focus on her face and failing miserably, “Wha- For what?”

There’s a hint of something darker wanting to come out. Valencia has a face like that. Always searching, never finding. She bares her teeth, almost like a smile but not quite there.

“You know, usually Armie drives, but now I can sit on his lap the _whole_ time.” She says.

Timmy’s mouth goes dry and he swallows down hard. He prays that the tremble in his voice isn’t as obvious as when he says, “Uh, that’s really sweet but actually, you don’t have to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of seats-”

“Ah, but not much AC, right?” Valencia tilts her head.

“I guess not…”

“’Cause I run very hot. Should probably lose some layers.”

“Okay…”

Valencia takes a step back and loosens the string that’s wrapping the thin fabric around her waist. She pauses, takes Timmy’s expression in, and lets her sarong drop to the floor. Now she’s standing there, in a full-blown bikini, grinning from ear to ear.

She sighs exasperatedly, “Ahhh, that’s better,” and leaves Timmy at a loss for words. He stands there in full-blown shock, trying to process what the hell is actually going on here. He shakes his head, “I hope you- I mean, enjoy the bus.”

Valencia nods, mounts the stairs and he listens to the sound of her high-heels hitting the ground, disappearing into the bus where she’ll inevitably be finding her way to Armie already.

Okay, so this isn’t how he thought this would go exactly but it shouldn’t be a problem. The music’s pumping, the smell of sea in the air and there’s a lovely blue sky up above. He can still have a good time at the beach.

“Hey!” The bus driver taps on his little booth window and calls out to Timmy on the stairs, “You getting in or what?”

He jumps at the sound and scrambles to climb the stairs finally, “Yes, sorry! I was just-” Timmy’s eyes cloud over, “Never mind,” He fumbles through the door that separates the “party” section of the bus from the rest of the vehicle and even if he’s seen it enough times already, still finds himself being wowed by the sheer amount of room they have in here.

Inside, the lighting is significantly darker. There’s an abundance of intricately laced swirls and patterns decorated on the walls. Some light up and others sparkle. There’s also a series of plush leather couches that line the edge of the room and a handy little bar in one corner, sectioned off by a partition and filled with all kinds of drinks for them to go crazy with.

What caught Timmy’s attention the most when he hired this massive fucking bus was the stripper pole towards the back. It’s slightly elevated off the floor by a platform and there’s a loveseat situated directly behind it as if to welcome people to come watch whatever performance might go on there.

Timmy looks around to see that Nick’s already found the secret stash of Twizzlers and is munching on them. Kyle is neck-deep in the fridge, raiding the shelves in search of snacks. Daniel’s fiddling with the stereo and Armie has sat down on one of the couches, Valencia by his side. She’s gently kneading the muscles of his leg, rubbing a finger up and down, and making a little “hm” noise. Timmy doesn’t even want to know what she’s thinking.

He sidles up to the middle of the room, “So, what do you guys think?”

Nick gulps down a twizzler and wags another one at him, “It’s awesome, don’t get me wrong,” He says in between chewing, “But expensive-looking. Are you sure we can even touch any of this stuff?”

“Okay, so I could've gone with cheaper options, I admit. But I wanted to splash out on you guys, you know, treat you to something a little different.”

Nick makes a face, “Why?”

“What do you mean “why?”. The kindness of my own heart, that’s why.”

Nick makes a disapproving noise and Armie raises an eyebrow at him.

“Thank you, Timmy. We really appreciate it.” Armie says.

“Ah, it’s no big deal, seriously. I chose to do this for you,” Timmy says and his feet unconsciously draw little lines on the floor. “For _all_ of you.” He makes sure to emphasise that point at the last minute.

“Annnd we're already stuck in traffic.”

“What?” Timmy shifts his attention to Daniel who’s stood by one of the windows. He’s opened up the curtain and is looking outside with a frown on his face. “But we can’t be-“

“Yup, looks like everyone’s pretty much had the same idea as us. Not to worry, though. I made a pretty good playlist. Bunch of new songs by new bands.”

Kyle lifts his head up from the fridge, “Wait, wait, wait, wait. Songs we don't know? That-that we can't sing along to? For a beach trip? What, are you gonna do? Hand out sheet music?”

Daniel scoffs, “Yeah and maybe if you’re really lucky I’ll print out some lyrics for you. Would you like that?”

“Shut up. Just give me the speaker.”

“No! I’ve always been in charge of the music. You wanna break traditions now, huh?”

“Listen, we’ve already broken a tradition by getting on a damn party bus, now stop being such a dick and give me the speaker!”

The two continue to argue for what feels like forever, back and forth, back and forth. All the while Timmy feels a slight migraine coming along and thinks that maybe this isn’t going to be the fun-filled trip he had hoped it would be all along. He already feels like he’s intruding on their “traditions” or whatever. Thankfully, their bickering dies down after a couple of minutes and a very excitable Nick steps up into the picture holding a microphone and wiggling it around like a child on Christmas day.

“You never told me we got karaoke in this thing!” He says.

“You never asked,” Timmy laughs taking in the look of pure excitement on his face.

Nick crosses over to the karaoke machine at the front of the room, slapping the microphone around in his hands like a slab of meat. He bends down to press a few buttons on the thing, asks, “What do we have here?” and seems to activate some kind of start-up with the machine lighting up and flashing red and green.

All of a sudden, a siren blares and the whole room comes alive. The lights that were once static now alternate between all the colours of the rainbow, and Nick whoops in excitement. There’s a smoke machine misting up the room as well as an electric disco ball that now spins on its axis, painting everyone’s faces with silvery shimmers of reflective light.

“Okay, let’s do this!” The song Nick chooses is a well-known tune from the 80s. The group reacts immediately, jumping up and getting into the music. Nick’s screaming incoherently down the mike with no shame whatsoever and it ends up in a very weird dance where Timmy’s half dancing, half covering his ears.

Valencia had dragged a very reluctant Armie up onto the floor and started twirling around him loosely, hair flowing like the sea in the misty air and as much as Timmy hates to admit it, they look beautiful together. Like, truly. He’s never been so enraptured by something that simultaneously fills him with so much jealousy.

At some point (and Timmy had really lost track of time how long they’d been dancing) Valencia and Armie had started to ramp up the heat, caressing each other’s bodies and intertwining in such a way that Timmy couldn’t tell where one person started and the other ended.

Nick had begun to get tired, his voice having been strained from all that incessant screeching and it also looked like Kyle and Daniel were getting to be quite worn out as well. Timmy, on the other hand, could’ve stayed dancing forever honestly, but with Armie and Valencia touching each other up like that, it wasn’t worth staying on the floor any longer than he had to.

He waited for everyone to sit down and catch their breaths then followed them to the various different couches, picked one at random, and ended up sat right next to Daniel by chance. They were left to sit and watch the only two left on the floor.

“They're having couple time.” Timmy mutters.

“Oh, yeah.” Daniel nods and then turns to face Timmy, “How you doing by the way?”

“Me?”

“Who else?”

Timmy thinks for a moment then looks towards the dancefloor, “This is fun.”

“Is it?”

“Yup.”

“You know that doesn’t answer my question.”

Timmy shrugs, “Well, I don’t know about you but I always like to start my beach trip with a live sex show.”

“What?”

“It’s a joke.”

Nothing but a beat and then…

“Oh! I get it because they’re-“ Daniel gestures towards Armie and Valencia, makes a ring shape with his thumb and forefinger, and pokes his finger in and out of the hole making for an incredibly crude visual that Timmy really didn’t need in his life.

They listen to the music play for a while - a softer, slower ballad has come on and the mood is noticeably brought down by it. Although, it’s not enough for Nick apparently who’s already fiddling with the karaoke machine again after having gotten a drink of water.

“Does he ever get tired?”

“Not really, no. I don’t know about you but I’m gonna sit this one out.”

“Me too.” Timmy says, “You want some popcorn?” Daniel nods and Timmy gets up to go to find the snacks. There should be a cupboard full of them by the bar and once he gets there, sure enough, there’s enough popcorn to last them the whole journey.

He reaches up to grab a smaller bag that can occupy them for the time being and brings it back into the lounge. He sits down, opens up the bag, and lets Daniel take a handful. They’re munching quietly on them, enjoying the performance that Nick’s putting on seeing as he’s moved onto rapping now and Timmy can’t decide if it’s the best or worst thing he’s ever seen.

It takes them only a few minutes to finish eating the whole bag. He asks if Daniel wants anymore but Daniel just pats his belly and says “full”. Timmy gets up and makes his way to the bar again, in search of the trashcan so that he can throw the empty packet away.

He lifts up the can, tosses the leftovers into the trash, and just before he leaves, decides to wash his hands. Timmy flicks the tap on, waits for the water to warm up, and then gets to work on washing the excess grease off of his fingers. He’s in the middle of pumping the soap when Armie slides right up next to him and opens one of the cupboards just above his head.

“Hello.” He says, not once taking his eyes off the contents of the cupboard.

Timmy rubs his hands together, “Hey.”

“You need some help with that?”

Timmy looks at his hands and then up at Armie. He furrows his brows, “With what?”

“Your hands. You’re not washing them properly.”

“Soap and water, what more do I need?”

“No, no, no, you have to lather them up with soap first, then you can wash it all off.”

Timmy quirks an eyebrow at him. He puts one hand under the soap dispenser and lets a huge dollop of the stuff drip onto his palm, “That good enough for you?”

Armie laughs, shakes his head, “Never mind.” He seems to find whatever he’s looking for in the cupboard and slams the door shut with ease.

Timmy watches him walk away from the corner of his eye. He’s quite sure that Armie’s going back into the lounge. That is of course until the air shifts and not because Armie’s walking away but because he’s stepping even closer into Timmy’s space.

He ends up stood just behind Timmy whose only last resort is to keep his eyes on his hands and try to focus on literally anything else other than the warmth of Armie on his back. When Armie doesn’t say anything for a while, Timmy is pretty much frozen in place just waiting for something to happen.

After what feels like a minute, the firm weight of Armie’s hand comes to rest on the edge of Timmy’s hipbone, and with that single point of contact, all functions in Timmy’s body cease.

“Sorry, just going to-“ Armie says. Timmy feels the same hand leave his hip and instead come to tangle itself in the mop of curls on his head. Armie begins to rake his fingers through Timmy’s hair, pulling on the strands lightly and Timmy doesn’t even know what to do. Even if Valencia can’t see them right now, with the partition shielding them out of view, Timmy can still feel her presence burning right through his body, knowing that she’s sitting so close by on the other side of the partition…

He holds his breath and tries not to think about the way Armie so naturally takes to handling him with such care and gentleness, tries not to think about what this means for them.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ve got popcorn in your hair.” Armie says plainly.

“Oh.” And Timmy laughs, more at himself than anything else because once again, he had let the fantasy in his head carry him away.

Armie gently fishes out the kernels from his hair, each finger brushing out his curls, unraveling the mess, and Timmy’s head sways in every which direction Armie pulls. He feels his eyes get heavy and start to close of their own accord.

“Got it.” Armie says, smoothing the last tufts of hair back to their original place. “You should be more careful, you know.”

Timmy goes to thank him but he’s already walking away, disappearing out from behind the partition and going back into the lounge.

Ok, so that just happened.

Not to worry, he’s back with Valencia now. That’ll keep Timmy in line if need be. It’ll help him to resist the temptation to jump on Armie right now and let him do horrible things to his body in the middle of this damn bus, audience, and all. From that thought alone, Timmy decides he needs to get as far away from Armie as possible for the remainder of the trip and the greater good of mankind.

An hour passes by with them on the road like this, getting up to dance when the timing is right, usually orchestrated whenever Nick feels like singing again. They laugh, they talk, they sing. Timmy’s gotten to know everyone on the bus much better now. Well, almost everyone.

Of course there is a tension between him and Valencia: a weird sort of push and pull like the same sides of a magnet wanting to repel, repel, repel. He doesn’t hate her, no, but would much rather be honest with himself and say that he doesn’t exactly get along with her. Which is fine. There can only be so much love in the world and Timmy ends up too drunk to care anyway.

He’s not the only one, either. Just like that, the energy in the bus had gotten significantly wilder. Kyle practically climbing the walls, Daniel strumming on guitar (however that had gotten here, Timmy didn’t know) and Nick was happy to supply the lyrics, as slurred and incoherent as they were.

That left one man, of course, whose only appearances on the floor were to get up, go to the bar and come back. He had had several drinks at that point, didn’t look fazed by any means, and was happy to sit on the couch the whole journey along.

It’s safe to say that Timmy’s not thinking clearly when he ends up kissing Daniel against the pole just for the hell of it. They had been dancing to the music, gotten struck by the heat of the moment, and kissed only briefly. Timmy had laughed afterward, hid his head on Daniel’s shoulder, and just carried on dancing. He didn’t pay much attention to anything else on the bus because for once, he finally felt alive, not having to second guess every decision that he made.

When Kyle had come up to him and said that he might “consider” Timmy if they had met in a club, he had laughed again. Or better yet, when Nick chimed in, told him that it wasn’t a case of “considering” but just straight-up “doing”, he hadn’t felt preyed upon – a little surprised, sure – but it was more so that to be the subject of their desires, even as a passing thought felt like a win in Timmy’s book. He couldn’t give a fuck about actually hooking up with any of them but that secret part of him was rejoicing at the thought of Armie’s friends wanting him, not just in their circle but maybe even more than that.

He also couldn’t help but notice that these kinds of thoughts were becoming more and more apparent the longer he spent away from Armie. He’d tell himself he wouldn’t but then he remembers almost hooking up with Daniel that one time because Armie wasn’t around. He felt like a slut and if really let himself go, he’d probably end up hooking up with every single one of Armie’s friends just to get a taste of him.

Was it wrong? He couldn’t even be sure anymore because what once had been a clear divide between right and wrong, had merged into one big disarray, filled with thoughts of Armie’s friends, Armie’s girlfriend, _Armie._ He wanted him. He wanted him so bad that he didn’t even know what he wanted and that felt so dirty. That’s how Armie made him feel - dirty one minute and then perfectly fine the next.

Armie had kissed Valencia against the stripper pole. Later, Timmy had taken her place, been kissed by Daniel against the very same pole. He’d only later realise that this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment type decision after all, as much as he would like to believe it was. Timmy’s subconscious had already made the decision to kiss somebody that day and if it couldn’t be _him_ then let it be a part of him and if he couldn’t be with Armie then let him stand in the shadow of the woman who was so lucky to have been kissed by him instead.

Timmy had been talking with the guys about just about anything and Nick had turned to the subject of hidden talents, asking if anybody had any cool party tricks. Timmy truly didn’t think he had any, and he didn’t think he was being deceitful when he said this but when a certain song came on not long afterward, it reminded Timmy that this might not be entirely true.

“Oh my God, I haven’t heard this in so long…” He used to listen to the song all through high school, always imagining that he was some kind of performer whenever it came on and it sent an adrenaline rush to course through his body. Timmy was overcome with the urge to do something a little naughty, something a little risky that he knew deep down he shouldn’t do.

"Heyyyy, wanna see something cooool?" Timmy slurs, staggering over to the pole. He spills his drink on the way, but fuck it, decides to tip the remainder out entirely.

A force much higher than Timmy’s body has led him to the back of the bus, to the loveseat, and the stripper pole with a raised platform.

"Learnt this in highschool. Watch carefully." He says with a punch-drunk look on his face, only ever looking at the guys from underneath his eyelashes for a split second and then turning to face the pole.

He darts his tongue, wet his lips, and suddenly thinks that maybe this really isn’t a good idea after all. Everybody’s going to be looking at him. Not to mention Armie and Valencia are only a couple of metres away.

But then Timmy remembers that he’s his own person. Fuck Armie, for all he cares. He can do this if he wants. What kind of person would he be to let someone else’s existence dictate what he can and can’t do? Plus, Armie’s too enraptured with Valencia right now. She’s on his lap at this point and they are in another world.

Timmy rubs the pole up and down with his finger, looking at it contemplatively. He seems to be considering his options, waiting for an idea to form in his head and once that happens, he can just go from there. He grabs onto the pole with his right hand and let his body twirl around it loosely. He smiles, suddenly remembering the feeling of ease it gives him to swing around a pole like this.

The song gets more intense. The bass is kicking up, melody turning dark and luckily the guys aren’t too weirded out. They’re just happy to jam out to the music for a while. They don’t pay Timmy much attention – not much attention until of course, Timmy grabs onto the pole with both hands, going as slow and supple as he possibly can, and rolls back and forth against it. He lets himself get lower and lower, legs opening wide until he’s straight-up grinding against the metal.

Now he’s got their attention.

Timmy closes his eyes, takes himself back to those nights spent going over routines like this when he should have been studying instead. Weightlessness overtakes his body and mind and he goes completely empty. All he knows in this moment is the slow, sensual rhythm of the song.

He pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it to the ground. Then, using the pole to lift himself up, expertly wraps on leg around it and stretches the other one up into the air. The position forces him to be flipped upside down, twirling around like he’s in some kind of music video.

Somebody mutters “fuck” under their breath.

Once landed on the ground, his back immediately comes to rest against the metal. He remembers a move he had taught himself long ago in which he had taken hold of the pole from behind and used it to lift himself away. The arch in his back is emphasised the moment he lets only his ass and head make contact with the metal. There’s a long stretch of an arm over his head, making elegant shapes with his body and moving ever so gracefully.

In another quick swipe, he lifts himself off the ground, and hangs upside down there for a second. Even when drunk, making sure to point his toes - twirling, stretching, bending. It’s a lot.

When Timmy lands he looks around finally and is immediately taken by the sight of three men with their faces on fire, jaws to the floor, looking at Timmy with a mixture of wonder and lust.

Behind them is Armie, of course, and he’s had no interest in Timmy’s little show whatsoever – too busy kissing the life out of Valencia. He’s smoothing his hand over the globes of her ass, is making filthy noises against her mouth and Timmy struggles not to roll his eyes. She’s being completely and utterly engulfed by Armie. He must smell so good. He must taste so good. The heady scent of his cologne must be making her head spin, letting Armie kiss into her mouth like that. _Fuck._

Whatever.

Timmy spins around once more, tries his luck making flirty eyes at the others, and feels smug when they become noticeably aroused. He lifts himself up and wraps both legs around the pole, lets his torso fall backward so that he’s looking at them from upside down.

What he hadn’t anticipated was that Armie would open his eyes and see Timmy hanging there at the very same time. Valencia’s hiding her face in his neck and he’s still got two hands firmly on her ass. When Armie doesn’t stop staring after a few seconds, Timmy is considerably more shaken by each passing moment.

_Why isn’t he looking away?_

It’s like there’s a thin shield over his eyes. Timmy can’t tell if he’s angry, confused, or just plain bored. He doesn’t seem to want to let up with his girlfriend, though, going back in to kiss her neck, her jaw, and then her lips again.

The music rolls on and Timmy’s dance continues. He flows effortlessly between moves like a silk ribbon streaming in the wind and as he does so, vows not to let his eyes shift so much. If he does, he’ll only be met by the graphic of Armie and his girlfriend and Timmy can’t afford to let that get to him.

He slides down the pole after having been suspended upside down with his legs in a split, sets his pointed toes on the floor and it’s only then that he chances a look at the men in front of him. They’re practically undressing Timmy with their eyes and he feels a thrill run down his spine. They can barely look away and the attention causes Timmy to become increasingly more provocative in his routine.

He exaggerates every line and bend and curve in his body, moving with sleek confidence but the one thing that catches him off guard is the very moment he catches Armie with Valencia’s lips on his.

Except this time, Armie isn’t even focused on the kiss, or at least not as he should be. Instead, he’s got one eye open, pointed in Timmy’s direction, and is shooting daggers at him.

Timmy swears the ground nearly falls out from beneath him. He clutches onto the pole even tighter and squints at Armie as if to say “You looking at me?” and when Armie doesn’t let up, Timmy desperately tries to ignore him, go back to his performance. But it’s clear when his hands start to tremble that this is having a terrible effect on him and Armie… well Armie is…

Is he _smirking?_

Timmy decides to test the waters a little. He carries on like nothing ever happened, spinning around the pole as he had always done and extending a leg upwards so that his body stretches out and the pale skin of his torso looks even more delicate.

In turn, Armie traces a long line up the length of Valencia’s thigh, deliberately, like he wanted him to see.

Timmy puts one hand in the air and spirals downwards.

Armie grabs onto her ass.

Timmy arches his back just a little more than he already had.

Armie digs his fingers into her ass cheeks and lets Timmy see the skin turn pale from where his hands are marking Valencia as his.

_Jesus fuck._

Timmy wants to see how far this will go. He begins to move forward experimentally so that his lips are only about two inches away from the pole. He makes puppy eyes at the guys in front of him, winks, and then opens his mouth to lean into the cool metal.

A darkness comes into Armie’s eyes as Timmy slowly lets his tongue poke out from in between his teeth and proceeds to lick a long, filthy line up the length of the pole. After that, he never once lets Armie out of sight. He sees the way Armie’s cool façade breaks apart, the way his chest is rising and falling, and the heavy breathing that follows is the cherry on top.

If Armie wanted to play then he should have been prepared for Timmy’s willingness to play back.

Is that what they’re doing? Playing a game? Teasing? Or has Timmy completely lost his mind, thinking that they’re on the same page when in reality Armie is just horny and not thinking clearly?

Timmy’s limbs start to get tired and he finishes with one final dip to the floor. He picks up his shirt, puts it on, and walks to the bar like nothing ever happened because he knows better than to draw this much attention to himself for this long. Valencia has started to stir, rightfully so after what Timmy has done but she doesn’t suspect a thing. Neither do the guys, after having been completely and utterly focused on Timmy’s body the whole time.

“I think I need some water after that.”

The guys all turn their heads in unison, following the path Timmy makes to walk right past them.

“Uh? What?” Kyle says.

Timmy finds a glass, runs it under the tap, and then pokes his head out from behind the partition, “What?”

“What? What!? You just flipped and dipped and tumbled yourself around a fucking pole and we’re just supposed to move on like that didn’t just happen?”

“That’s usually what happens, yeah.”

“Usually!?”

“I’m _kidding._ It’s a _joke._ ” He takes a drink. “Wow, you guys really need to loosen up. It’s only a little dance.”

Nick is absolutely stunned, “You call that little?”

“Yes, I do, and what about it?”

Nick opens his mouth to say something but upon seeing the look of seriousness on Timmy’s face, snaps it shut almost immediately.

“Good.” Timmy says firmly, “I just did as you said, I showed you my hidden talent and besides,” He walks over to one of the curtains, stumbles on the way, and peaks outside, “We’re here.”

* * *

They arrive an hour later.

Half an hour was spent arguing over money after Nick had suggested they hire a sailboat for the day. They had unloaded their stuff from the bus, were ready to go straight down to the beach but Nick kept insisting that they get the boat first, seeing as it was going to be a twenty-minute walk from there, all the way to their spot.

There was a lot of conflict surrounding who was going to do what. Armie wanted to take it slowly and just lie on the beach for a while. Valencia wanted to go swimming and Timmy wanted to take a stroll down the pier where all the arcades and rides were.

Eventually, it was decided that Nick, Daniel, and Valencia would take the boat out, Kyle was up for the arcades with Timmy which meant that Armie was dragged along with them after having been teased for being too much a “spoil-sport.”

Timmy had to admit that Armie did look tired, though. He thought that it was most likely down to their day-drinking which didn’t have as much of an effect on Timmy afterwards as it seemed to have on Armie. He wasn’t touching Valencia anymore and that didn’t strike as odd, just very interesting. There was no doubt in Timmy’s mind that they had crossed a line earlier that day, but if Armie wasn’t going to acknowledge what had happened between them, then he was going to do just the same.

They spent hours playing with slot machines, messing around on old arcade games, and when they got sick of that, took themselves down to the beach and lounged around in the sun. Armie had stripped down to his swimming trunks: bright yellow shorts that hugged his ass perfectly and he somehow looked even taller with them on. His body was tanned deliciously, chest out on display and Timmy watched him play volleyball whilst he grazed around in the sun.

The whole time he was sitting there, he couldn’t help but think back to their little game, knowing that Armie had been hungry for him earlier that day and thinking if this new-found tension between them would ever cease. Or maybe it was too late now and no matter how much they tried to shove it back in, the can had already been opened? It wasn’t even the good kind of tension, either. It was subtle, _too_ subtle for what they had done. It was being made worse by the fact that Armie hadn’t so much as said a word to him since they got off the bus. Timmy would try to initiate conversation but Armie only gave him a half-smile and a nod in return.

Watching him play volleyball, Timmy thought that he couldn’t be all that tired after all. Was he just making an excuse so that they wouldn’t have to talk about it? Or had Timmy really put him through hell and back with his shameless flirting so much so that Armie didn’t even want to look at him anymore?

He really hoped that wasn’t the case because even if he couldn’t be with him, the thought of losing Armie’s friendship was the last thing he wanted on earth.

He figured the best thing to do would be would try to carry on as naturally as possible, because if Armie had truly felt something, he would probably have to acknowledge it at some point, or else they’d both be continuing with this weird half-friendship that just makes for highly uncomfortable conversations.

But, of course, Armie could just as easily go down the other path and never let Timmy know how he felt which would be the worst possible outcome because Timmy’s head isn’t made for being kept in the dark like this. If Armie didn’t say something soon, it was most likely that he was going to spiral into a state of self-hatred and loathing for what he’s done.

* * *

Once everyone had enough of sand on feet, arcades, and ocean breeze, it was just in time for the sun to start setting and cast its orangey-pink glow on everything down below. Everybody regrouped and it was decided that there was just enough time for one last stop before their departure.

A little off the main beach is a tropical open-air restaurant surrounded by palm trees and lit dimly by candlelight. The gang walked up to the main entrance where a tiny woman is stood by the door. She had a flower in her hair and when they asked to be seated, she put one hand up, scurried off into the back, and reappeared with a handful of lei necklaces for them to wear.

“May I?” She asked. They nodded and she instructed them to walk through the door, wrapping each brightly coloured lei around their necks as they passed by. They were then lead to a table, where they sat down and were handed the appropriate menus.

“Are you ready to order your drinks?” She asked.

Nick looked around the table and then smiled up at her, “Oh, no thank you. I think we’re gonna need a second on that one.”

“Oh, certainly, sir.” She disappeared off to see to the influx of customers and they were left to mull over the menu.

* * *

“I totally got the ball in the hoop!”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did and the stupid machine ripped me off! It fucking dupped me.”

“Just admit it, you can’t shoot.”

“Oh trust me, I can shoot, alright.” A crude gesture from Kyle makes Valencia cringe and grimace.

“Ewww, stop.” She says and puts a stop to his and Daniel’s ongoing feud.

They’ve almost finished their meals. Empty plates and used cutlery are scattered around the table, and they’re just waiting for their desserts to arrive. Timmy’s had trouble keeping his focus on just eating because, for the duration of the meal, he’s had no new luck with Armie. He doesn’t contribute much to the conversation and when Timmy tries to get Armie to meet his eyes, it’s like he doesn’t even see him.

“You know, this has actually been one of the best beach trips in a long time.” Nick says and the table agrees. Well, most of the table. He’s starting to think that Armie has developed some kind of locked-in syndrome.

Daniel nods his head at Timmy, “I’d say it has a lot to do with you and that bus. Thanks for that one, man.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it. I’m an expert in last-minute decisions anyway. Hiring that bus was just another one of them.”

“What, like pole-dancing?” Kyle says with a knowing grin on his face and Timmy feels his cheeks heat up. “Um, no. That was- I just like to dance,” and thinks he’s managed to deter the conversation but when Valencia tips her head up at him, suddenly intrigued, Timmy dreads to know why. “You pole dance?” She asks.

“Yes I do.”

“Cool, me too. Where did you learn?”

Timmy doesn’t know if Feminist Dancing for Beginners is the appropriate answer or even a legitimate one but it doesn’t make it any less true. He goes for a half-truth instead. “Oh, I don’t know. I just sort of, like, watched videos.”

“Ahhh I see… so no real experience?” Timmy sees the fire in her eyes get more intense by that point and thinks that she must be getting a real kick out of this. The thing is, he’s not even sure he can blame her anymore.

“Well, I mean not in front of an audience.”

“But I thought you did it in front of them?” She asks.

“Yes but that’s not-“

“Okay, okay!” Nick brings them to a conclusion, “I think we’re getting a little carried away here, guys. Let’s be civil, hm? Timmy, how about you try some of my dessert? I heard you like lychee.” He says, offering up his plate full of cake.

“Oh no, thank you, that’s fine. I was just going to the bathroom, anyway.” Timmy’s already getting up before he can finish his sentence.

Nick shrugs, “Hm, okay. Suit yourself.”

Timmy disappears into the bathroom as quick as he can possibly go. He bumps into a server on the way and nearly trips over his own feet. The shame and the guilt for what he's done is starting to seep into his veins. He can’t help the way he’s panicking especially when Armie hasn’t said a word, the whole time sitting there and only letting Timmy’s mind wander to all the horrible things he could be thinking.

He opens up the bathroom door and finds the nearest stall. There, he can relieve himself and hopefully get into a calmer state before even thinking about going back to the table again. He finishes up in a few seconds and pulls the flush. Then he turns back around to unlock the door and once he’s out, walks as slowly as he possibly can towards the sink area. He wants to take his time with this, not sure if he’ll be able to face them again after only a few minutes.

Timmy looks at his flushed cheeks in the mirror. He hadn’t even realised he’d been tearing up until he sees them glisten and catch in the dim light. He brings a hand up to one of his cheeks and presses his fingers into the skin, caressing the tinted skin. He rubs his fingers in circles and starts making faces at himself.

As he turns the tap on, the only sounds that can be heard are the whiz of water travelling up the pipes and the click of the door handle as someone swings the door open behind him and walks in. Timmy lifts his gaze to get a look at the person in the mirror and comes to a halt when in his reflection, catches Armie stood by the door, immediately locking onto Timmy with a steely look in his eyes.

Instead of walking into one of the stalls, Armie marches right up to Timmy and comes to stand next to him by the sink. Armie puts his hands in his pockets and turns his attention to Timmy’s hands draped over the sink. They don’t say anything to each other and Timmy feels the tension rising, waiting for something to happen, a bomb to go off.

“You enjoying yourself?” Armie turns his head slightly. It doesn’t seem particularly out of the ordinary which leads Timmy to believe that Armie wants to forget about what had happened just as much as he does.

And so, Timmy is complicit to play along, offering only a little hum in response, and then the silence that follows forces Timmy to stand there listening to Armie’s steady breath as he inhales and exhales. One side of his face is completely on fire from the magnetism of the tall man by his side. He goes to wash the soap off his hands, prays that the slight way in which his fingers are trembling doesn’t set off alarm bells.

Armie comes to shift his body so that he can face Timmy, “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“You don’t wash them properly.”

Not once does Timmy look up at him, “I do.” He says.

“Well, what if I said you don’t?”

“I wouldn’t care.”

“Oh no?”

Timmy is about to open his mouth, think of something snarky to say but his thought process is interrupted when an arm comes to wrap around his waist and then another, pressing up against his sides until he’s locked in place in front of the mirror.

Armie wraps his huge hands around Timmy’s own delicate ones and brings them together in a clasp position. The weight of his fingers press down onto the back of Timmy’s hands and Timmy feels as though he’s being held down by something much larger than just that. There’s the feel of Armie’s chest pressing up against his shoulder blades and the ever so poignant jutting of his hip bones right up against Timmy’s ass.

“Armie,” Timmy drags out his name, barely even audible under the hush of his breath, “What are you doing?”

Armie’s own voice seems to approach the situation in a similar way except when Armie speaks, his voice has a particular roughness to it. The sound comes from deep within his chest, rumbling through Timmy’s body - even getting lodged in Timmy’s throat on the way as if Armie’s voice were his.

“You needed my help, didn’t you?”

Timmy bites down on his lip, so close to whimpering under his touch that he can feel his throat close up automatically - almost like his body’s last hope to protect himself. There’s this primal instinct within him to protest but at the same time, the mocking tone in his voice is humbling Timmy in the best way.

He decidedly lets himself go pliant under Armie’s control, lets Armie move their hands under the gushing hot stream of water, and hisses when the sting hits him. Under normal circumstances, this would hurt a lot more but with Armie keeping their hands under the water like this, pain only has so much room before it gives itself up to pleasure.

Armie’s soft touch turns to the even softer stroke of fingertips to palms, palms to knuckles, kneading Timmy’s hands together in circles and pressing down into the knots. There’s steam rising up above their enveloped hands and Armie lets go for a second to adjust the temperature of the water. He then guides their hands back under the flow so that they can get some cold water on there too.

Armie doesn’t even stop when the temperature goes from cool to icy. He lets it stream onto Timmy’s palms and when a particularly sharp jet flies out, it causes Timmy to flinch.

Armie picks up on this, starts to massage his thumbs into the inside of Timmy’s palms, and turns his head to speak lowly in his ear.

“Too much for you?”

Timmy can hear the smirk in his voice and he wants to run, scream, cry but with Armie locking him in place, having every which part of his body connected to his in some way, there’s absolutely nothing he’d rather do than just be his for a moment.

Armie takes hold of him once again and instead moves his hands to sit under the soap dispenser, letting the liquid drip slowly onto Timmy’s palms. Once he’s satisfied with that, he interlocks his fingers with Timmy’s, closes them around the soap, and rubs their hands together in a gentle, languid motion.

Timmy watches the soap lather up into a creamy mixture and feels the weight of Armie’s chin on his shoulder get heavier. He’s opening his mouth to say something. Maybe even smiling. Timmy so desperately wants to look up and see the two of them together in the mirror but he’s afraid that if he so much as moves he’ll ruin whatever it is they’ve got going on between them.

“See?” Armie’s speaking right up against the shell of Timmy’s ear, “We lather them up first, then wash.”

Timmy nods tentatively, mostly transfixed on the way Armie’s hands cover up his own completely. Armie could do anything he wanted to him right now, and God, does Timmy want him to?

He’s lathering up the soap for quite some time, being very thorough and equally as gentle. When the time comes though, he gives their hands one final wash under the warm water and lets go for good.

It takes a while for Timmy to break out of his dazed state. He wants to ask Armie so many questions like why he’s been ignoring him all day or what happens next for them.

But when Timmy turns around, dizzy and starstruck, he’s completely dismayed to see the door swinging on its hinges and a gust of wind blows from where Armie has already up and left, leaving no traces of himself other than the ghostly feel of his hands and the new stain on Timmy’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, soap porn. Is this what my life has come to?


	7. (not a chapter - just an announcement)

I will be taking at least a week's break from writing. I was in the middle of chapter 7, obviously we all know what happened, and I just need some time to get back into the flow. I already separate the characters from real life as I'm sure most people do and I don't want to give up on it because this is my first fanfic and it means a lot to me. Hopefully you understand. Love you all. ❤︎

(Ironically I had also started a fanfic on knifeplay... well...)


	8. What Should I Do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy runs into a few complications...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm a liar and a fraud and I couldn't stay away from writing. This is a shorter chapter (I think) but it's a chapter nonetheless. Enjoy, my loves <3

“Thank you, gentlemen, I hope we can come to an agreement and once the Duffel’s get this gas situation sorted, we can get the land up and running for you.”

Timmy faintly remembers the shake of hands, the men in suits ushering themselves out of his meeting room and then his feet hitting the ground. If he couldn’t see the walls moving past him or the door to his office getting closer, he wouldn’t think he was moving at all. And then it was a loose hand to the doorknob, twisting open the lock to step into his office. 

Ace was sitting at his desk which came as no surprise because somewhere along the way, Ace had decided it was his God-given right. His feet were propped up on the table and a box of donuts lay by his side.

“Want one?” 

Timmy takes a few steps closer. “Not hungry.”

Armie hadn’t shown up. 

“Yeah, yeah. Eat the donut, you know you wanna.”

Armie hadn’t shown up in a while.

“I don’t want to.”

“What’s it gonna take to put a smile on your face, hm? I’ve tried everything. Can’t you just fake a little one for me?

“I’ve been working all day, Ace. Sorry if I’m not putting on a pantomime every time you invite yourself in here.”

Timmy takes a bite of one of the perfectly round rings of pastry anyway. “S’good.” He says and sits down on the opposite chair. He pulls out his laptop from one of the compartments under his desk and opens it up to a blaring screen. A page full of jumbled up words.

“Grouchy today, huh?”

“No,” Timmy says in between chewing.

“No? What you doing on there then?” Ace motions towards Timmy’s laptop - Timmy’s open laptop with a document spelling out all his thoughts. It’s complete dribble written up throughout the duration of the week.

“Work.” He says.

“Uh-huh…” Ace’s eyes make a trail down the path of Timmy’s face, all the way to his fidgeting hands and then his laptop. “You sure?”

Timmy looks up. “Whatever you’re going to do, please don’t-“ It’s too late. Ace jumps up and snatches the laptop away from right out under his nose. He smiles deviously. Then it’s a chuckle, soon melting into full-blown laughter. “Ohhhh, I see. `This is good, this is real good.”

Timmy tries to snatch it away but Ace is quicker.

“" _Armie, baby, if you wanted me to be yours why is a simple text so hard for you to understand-“_ What is this prose? He’s gonna freak if you send him this shit.”

“I wasn’t going to send him anything! I just write down my thoughts, helps me figure stuff out.”

“He hasn’t spoken to you?

Timmy lowers his head.

“Well, I gotta tell ya this is heavy, man” Ace puts the laptop down with a sigh. “Now you know I’m the worst at advice but if I had to have my input, I’d say that staring at that screen all day isn’t gonna do you any good.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask for your input.” 

“What’s your next move?”

“He hasn’t even texted.”

“Since when, Timmy?”

“Since two days ago. We were meant to get boba, Ace, boba! That’s like my saving grace and we missed it. How am I meant to know where we stand now?”

“We got boba yesterday.”

Timmy groans, “It’s not the same.”

“Much appreciated.” Ace sits down. “What now, though? I mean, you have to do something.”

“God, I don’t know. Now we wait? We just sit here and wait because honestly, he’s the one that should be reaching out.”

“You sure Valencia’s not keeping him from you?”

Timmy makes an amused sound. “Oh no, I’m sure of that. Definitely. I mean, I’d keep me away from me.”

“She’s pretty.”

“I know.”

“And a yoga instructor.”

“I know.”

“I went through her Facebook.”

“You did?”

“Lots of mirror selfies and dogs. She seems nice, you know.”

“Waiting for the point.”

“Oh right. Well, I don’t know. All I’m saying is that hypothetically if Armie decides to break it off with her, I’m sure she’ll get back up on her feet. She looks stable, happy, healthy. It can’t be a very good relationship if he’s going around slobbering after you.”

“Slobbering… yeah, no. It was me that provoked him. it’s my fault we’re in this place and now he’s gone back to Valencia, for _good reason_ too, I might add.”

Ace hums solemnly.

“You know I’m starting to think that maybe we should keep it that way,” Timmy adds.

“Fuck off! I won’t let you do that.”

“Wouldn’t it be so much easier to just let him go?”

“And let you lose the one person that makes you happy in the process?”

“You make me happy.”

“Yeah well, I’m not 6”5 with a hairy chest.”

Timmy doesn’t say anything but doesn’t exactly disagree.

“Let him come to his own conclusions and don’t shut him out just yet. If you’re lucky, maybe he’ll give in and finally let you lick his face.”

Just then, the phone on Timmy’s desk rings. Timmy jumps. Ace gasps, “Is that him?”

“No, it can’t be. Can it?” Timmy scrambles to grab the phone, “If it is, I swear you really gotta stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“You know, your wizard stuff.” Timmy puts it up to his ear.

“My wizard stu-“

Timmy makes a shooing motion. “On the phone.” He whispers.

The lady on the other end speaks up, “Hello, is this, uhh, Timothée Chalamet? Forgive my pronunciation. ”

“Yes, speaking.”

“Oh hi, I was just calling on behalf of a Kate Henderson here at Sunnyside Youth Camp.”

“Miss Henderson?” He hasn’t heard that name since he was 16.

“Yes, as you would formally know her. She’s been very excited to reveal something to you.”

“Oh, right?”

“As you may know, it’s coming up to be the time of year where camp begins and all the kids come to stay in for the summer…”

“Sure?” He really doesn’t know where she’s going with this.

“Well, we’re delighted to tell you that we’re offering you the role of a mentor here at Sunnyside.”

“A what?” Timmy makes a face, “Like for the kids?”

“Exactly. You’ll take on the role of activity support, be in charge of keeping everyone’s spirits up but all around, it’s going to be a jam-packed, fun-filled time and as you are an experienced visitor, we thought it would be perfect to have you show the kids around and help them get settled in. We also completely understand if you cannot take the time out of your work to come along but of course, we would love to have you. What do you say?”

“It sounds great, thank you for letting me know. I- uhh-“ Timmy starts to chew on his nails, he looks to Ace with full eyes and they exchange a series of mimes. After a few seconds, Timmy clears his throat and speaks up again, “Look, I’m obviously really surprised to hear from you guys and I appreciate the offer but I don’t know how it’s going to work out with all my… work. Yeah, I’m pretty caught up with a lot of stuff right now.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. A real shame. Should I put an answer through to Kate telling her you can’t make it?”

“Can I ask how long I’ll be expected to stay?”

“Of course. The camp lasts all summer as you know but mentors are only required for the first couple of weeks. We usually get people opting for two of those, as the kids seem to get comfortable enough on their own then.”

Two weeks away in New York? He could get some headspace.

“Can I have a think about it and get back to you?”

“Certainly. I’ll let Kate know and you can call us back whenever you’re ready, okay? Have a wonderful day.”

“Thanks, you too.” They hang up and Timmy puts his phone down.

“So?”

“They want me to go back to camp.”

“Camp? Like THE camp?"

“They say it’s going to be fun, I don’t know. I just have so much on my mind.”

“Do it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Your sitting here wallowing in self-pity all day isn’t gonna make you feel better. I know you’re sad about Hammer Time but that doesn't mean you have to betray yourself, right? This could be good for you.”

“I guess it could be…”

“Right! So call them back and tell them you’re going.”

“I will.” Timmy nods, a little unsure but Ace seems satisfied enough.

The laptop rests on Timmy’s lap now, glaring challengingly at him. He skims his eyes over the document, the slightly unintelligible spelling from when tears had been blocking his field of vision, words of passionate longing, and then they come to a stop, holding their focus on the word “Armie” written over and over. Armie, Armie, Armie and there’s suddenly this low frequency of nothingness sounding off in the air, pulling on the insides of Timmy’s chest. He finds himself sniffling but that’s about it. He can’t focus on anything else, do anything else. 

“Hey, you okay?”

“I don’t-“ Timmy blinks back slowly. He turns his head to look out of the window, expels a long breath outwards, and lets his mind do the talking, “What am I feeling?” He says, equal parts mystified and equal parts calm. He’s not looking for an answer, doesn’t even think he wants one.

“Love.” His friend responds coolly like it’s obvious, and Timmy huffs. 

He parts his mouth as if to say something bigger, but settles for a dismissive laugh, “Don’t be ridiculous.” He says.

“-and on second thoughts, I think you should recognise that before even thinking about going to camp.” Ace continues and suddenly his demeanour has changed, “Lemme ask you something.” He says, more like a gateway than anything else and when Timmy doesn’t answer, Ace takes a deep breath, “What do you like most about Armie’s friends?”

Timmy squirms under the sudden change in mood, “I don’t know what that’s got to do with anything.” 

“Answer the question. What is it that you like about them?”

“Well, they, uhh,” He fumbles trying to express something with his hands, “They make jokes. They’re kind, most of the time. They-“

“Do you care about them?”

Timmy blinks vapidly, “I think they’re cool.”

“Do you care?”

He looks away then, and Ace leans back in his chair like he’s won a battle, “I think we both know they’re just a stepping-stone on the way to Armie.”

“No they’re not! Oh my God, what are you even saying?”

“I just want you to be honest with yourself, for once, please. You won’t even admit, not even to me, after all these months that you are madly in love with Armie Hammer. What is that? You said you want to move on, fine, move on but how are you ever going to do that if you don’t take the first step?”

“I don’t even know where is this coming from-”

“I’ve been trying to help you for so long, Tim, so long and you can’t even just admit the most important part, the thing that got us here in the first place! I looked you dead in your eyes and told you you were in love and you still don’t see it. And now you’re just going to let Vaseline sweep him away.”

“That’s not her name-”

“You are setting yourself up!”

“Fucking hell can’t you just let me get over it? I’d rather wallow than have to suffer through another one of my stupid decisions. If he’s not around then I’m safe from that, from embarrassing myself so let’s just fucking keep it that way. _God!_ ”

“If the same bad things keep happening over and over, there is a reason for it and in your case, it is denial. You may be fine continuing on this way but I can’t take it anymore. Until you admit that you love him, I’m out.”

“There’s nothing to admit! I can’t love him, not like… anymore- I can’t-”

“You want to keep lying? Fine. Lose my number.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Ace’s features have adopted this blankness that drains any last semblance of interest from them and suddenly the realization sinks in for Timmy that he could very well be losing a friend right now, “Ace, what about helping me out, huh? What about our plan? What about that?”

“I’m out,” Ace says, putting his hands up in the air. He then grabs the box full of donuts on the desk, picks one out to eat, and storm out of Timmy’s office, which triggers a specific part of Timmy’s brain and he doesn’t know why. 

“Fuck you, Ace! Fuck you, fuck you! I’m gonna have a great time back at camp, and prove you wrong. Fuck you!” Timmy’s voice squeals on a sore throat towards the end, making for the perfect cherry-on-top to all this madness and when he slams himself back down onto the chair, all the air that had been building up in his lungs punches out like the finale to a shitty musical theatre production.

His seat damn near breaks too, but it’s of no real concern because he can’t even process what just happened. They had been on good terms up until now and suddenly it’s all _admit-you-love-him-but-move-on-but-don’t-move-on-because-he-makes-you-happy._

Timmy doesn’t know how to deal with Armie at the moment but he does know one thing and that’s where he’s going to be in the very near future, jetting off somewhere familiar, somewhere he might even be proud to call home. First thing tomorrow, he’s going to request time off. He’ll then call the camp back and book a flight so that soon enough, Ace will be kissing his sweet ass goodbye in New York.

Timmy shoves the laptop forcefully into the pocket of his bag, not nearly as satisfying as it would’ve been to kick something or as it _had_ been to scream, but this is a workplace and as much as Timmy would like to get fired, it’s probably best that he goes home to sort himself out. 

The office is quiet now, deafeningly so and just as he’s about to get up and go, he finds his half-eaten donut sitting sadly on the desk, used and forgotten like his own little neglected child. Symbolic, almost. And if Timmy wasn’t riled up enough already, he might actually take a picture to remember it by.

Unfortunately, Timmy’s a terrible photographer and an even worse father and so he gets up, throws the donut away, and leaves his office without a moment’s hesitation.

* * *

A week later and Timmy is up at 6 AM, except now he’s busy packing a few bags in the jumbled mess of his apartment. 

There are heaps of clothes strewn out all over the bedroom floor and he can practically hear his mother telling him it’s like a bomb went off in there. His suitcase is big, maybe too big for just two weeks but if he’s going to be treating himself to a break, he might as well. He’s made sure to pack all of the essentials but also some of the other things he’s grown to depend on, like the body pillow he sleeps with every night. Sad in theory, but in practice a god-send for singles all over the world. He manages to stuff it in with the rest of his luggage. Then, it’s a few washcloths and face creams. Dildo might have to go on hold.

“Perfect.” Timmy zips up his case, puts on a pair of sunglasses, and lugs the bag downstairs. The girth of his luggage forces him to shimmy out through the front door like a loser but luckily nobody is around to see it. After winding down the stairs, Timmy makes it outside of his apartment complex at last. The delicate morning chill soon makes his hairs stand up on end and he takes in the fresh, dewy tang of 6 AM. It melts effortlessly into a savour that settles on his tongue, his throat, in all of his airways, clearing them up and leaving him feeling refreshed.

Everything - not just the air - is crisp and clear, like the first sip of ice-cold water, like stepping out into the new dawn of a beginning much more needed than he initially thought. Timmy feels like this is exactly what he needs. 

He spots his uber waiting just a few steps ahead so he waves to catch the driver’s attention and walks over. The driver unlocks the car so that he can throw his stuff in the back and then he gets in, shuts the door, and straps himself up. The driver asks him where he wants to go.

“LAX, baby! No, not baby. Just LAX, sorry. The excitement-“

“Not the worst I’ve heard.”

They set off for the airport, Timmy positively buzzing with anticipation to see the old camp again. The lush rivers, the rich forests, the winding trails into unknown territories, it’s all coming back before he’s even set foot in the place. And the one thing that’s making this worth his time is the end result. 

Timmy’s hoping that by some miracle going back to the places he used to love will help him to let his summer "love" go because it seems that Armie’s already given up on him. Why not do the same?

6 and a half hours later, the usual airport fuss leaves him feeling a bit weak, Timmy never one for crowds but at least he’s managed to land on the other side with no problems. The weather immediately strikes him as different even though it’s not even by a huge mile – it’s summer after all – and yet it feels like a sudden reality check, like wondering what he is doing here, or anywhere, for the 1000th time. If he loved LA so much and despised New York so dreadfully, why is he filled with longing now that he’s being faced with the same skyscrapers, the same shitty street smell, and all of its tired faces? It hasn’t at all changed. Has he?

His second taxi lands him in Skaneateles in about 4 and a half hours – a lovely little town that wraps itself around a finger lake - where he’s promptly discarded at the front gate of Sunnyside Youth Camp. A tall wooden structure opens up automatically to lead him into the forestry and from there all he can really see is the trees, the faintness of some building poking up over the tree canopy up ahead and the sun is setting.

He strolls along the cobblestone pathway until eventually, the main building rears its head and a huge cabin-like structure with dark panels and moss that’s snaked itself up the walls over the years stands proudly in front of him, the combination of pine, mint, and moss making for an incredibly intoxicating smell.

Timmy drags his suitcase along the cobbled floor and walks up to the main desk. He smiles at the lady on reception. “Hello, I’m here to see Miss, uhh- Kate. I’m volunteering as a mentor.”

The sound of kids playing in one of the fields nearby echoes throughout the building.

“Ah, she’s just down the hall.” The lady says, “I think she’s occupied with someone else at the moment but I’m sure she won’t be long. Just take a seat over there for me.”

Timmy nods and moves to lug his suitcase over by the wall. He then sits down on one of the waiting chairs, suddenly feeling like a child at the doctor’s office. About five minutes go by and the sound of “Miss Kate” indeed talking to someone in the next room becomes louder. She seems to be wrapping up the conversation, getting closer and closer to the door and Timmy was right to think so because suddenly a middle-aged woman with her hair up in a bun pokes her head out from the next room. She looks around, “Timothée?”

“Yes, hello, Miss Henderson.”

“Oh, Timothée! How wonderful to see you again! Come, come with me. I’ve got so much to tell you! But drop the formalities, please, it makes me feel very old.” Her head disappears into the room again and Timmy hurries after her, hobbling his suitcase along the floor. 

When he gets to the door, it’s a bit of a struggle to get the bag through and he has to swivel his body around and enter the room backward. The bag gets jammed and Miss Henderson rushes to help him drag it through. His luggage finally slides through the door with a pop. 

She’s beaming, “I have wonderful news.”

“Oh really, what is that?”

“You’ll never believe who also came to stay with us this year.” She starts walking through another door off to the side with a spring in her step and Timmy grabs onto his luggage to follow her.

“Leave the suitcase.” She says and Timmy does as he’s told, leaving it to rest again the wall. Once he’s walked through the door, he only has a second to take in his surroundings. Same woody smell, same log burners and cobblestone and… 

“Timothée, I want you to meet Armie Hammer.”

 _Panic alarm: an electronic device designed to assist in alerting somebody in emergency situations where a threat to persons or property exists._ Timmy remembers looking up the definition one day, never actually thinking he’d find a good use for it until now.

He forgets everything he told himself about being good, about going steady because Armie’s in all black and he’s composed and professional and holds his gaze, like nothing in the world bothers him, all the while Timmy’s been a brooding mess of a person, pining over the past like he always does, but none of that seems to matter to Armie. He has the propriety that Timmy lacks and his fingers ache suddenly, to be held or to hold - but he also wants to dig them into Armie’s skin, give him nothing but the feel of his legs wrapped around his body, nothing but the option to hold onto Timmy’s hips and take whatever he needs. But mostly be held down by him because Armie looks good. 

Armie always looks good. 

Fuck him. He’s so predictable.

“Oh, hello.”

“Hi.” Armie replies curtly.

They don’t take their eyes off of each other.

Timmy wonders if he’s thinking the same thing and then he’s met with the possibility that maybe he’s not – that he is in fact disappointed to Timmy here, or maybe even angry at him for showing up and even if it is a hypothesis, it sends a quiet rage to start seething through Timmy’s veins. He feels himself become more and more inclined to piss Armie off the longer their staring match goes on.

In fact, he’s desperate to get some kind of reaction out of him. Armie could roll his eyes or flare his nostrils. He could send Timmy away, say “I’m not staying here with him!” because at least then Timmy would know that he has some sort of power over him. Armie could bend him over right now and spank him for being such a brat, telling him that daddy’s very angry with little Timmy for provoking him that day in front of everyone. 

Thoughts.

“Armie was one of the best sportsmen on the whole site."

“Ohhhh,” Timmy morphs his face into surprise but loves that it must be reading as sarcasm to Armie, “Really?”

“Yes! You two boys actually came to stay with us around the same time, I thought it was a lovely coincidence.”

“A coincidence indeed.”

Miss Henderson looks back and forth between the two, “Well, shake hands at least.”

They do.

She claps her hands, “Oh wonderful! I can tell you two are going to have the best time!” She says. “Now, we need to go over the particulars such as schedule and responsibilities but first I want to let you in on a little extra something we’ve prepared for our mentors this year. I would also like to preface this by saying this is not something we anticipated doing in the first place but it has recently come to our attention that accommodation is looking a little booked up this year.”

Armie juts his chin up, “How booked up are we talking?” 

“Booked up enough for you two to be staying in a cabin together.” 

“Sorry, what?” Timmy leans in to make sure his ears are still in check, “You can’t expect us to- I’m not- with _him._ ”

“Look, I know it’s sudden and I can understand your frustrations but there’s really nothing else we can do. I can look at putting you in one of the dorms but I’m sure you’d much rather prefer a cabin to yourselves. There’s plenty of space if it should come down to a bit of a squabble, so you’ll always have room to get away from one another. Although I’m sure it won’t come to that, right boys?” She tries her best apologetic smile but what follows is a deafening silence.

Armie’s the one to break it off, “We have to stay in a cabin together?” 

“That is what she said, yeah.”

“Great. Any more questions?”

Armie shakes his head, “No, none at all,” and Timmy gawks at him.

“Good! Now let’s talk-“

“No, wait, hold on, Miss Henderson, how long do we have to stay together?”

“Well, two weeks, I presume. If that is of course how long you boys will be staying with us. Armie, two weeks, yes?”

Armie actually looks remorseful for a second. “Yes.” It’s quick and low and despite Timmy shooting daggers at him, he manages to avoid looking in Timmy’s direction again.

Miss Henderson takes a second to look between them, presumably waiting for one of them to interject. Then, a smile creeps across her face and she claps her hands together, making Timmy jump, “Perfect, boys. I’m glad that’s been sorted out.” Timmy actually finds himself wanting to ask a whole heap of questions but- “Now, onto the schedule!” She’s already pulling out her diary before he can get a word in edgeways.

Great.

* * *

It’s a mostly silent trip on the way to their cabin. 

The two had been released into the wild, granted only by Miss Henderson’s permission after she had drained them thoroughly with an extended speech about rules and curfew because wow, they had a curfew, and then they were instructed to find their _own_ way towards the cabin.

So that’s how they ended up walking together, winding down several paths, each one taking them deeper and deeper into the forest until eventually, they passed the swimming complex - the same one they used to go to at night when they were so naïve, so hopeful... 

They venture on through vines and woodrush only to be met by another path that’s a carbon copy of the last, the only difference being that birds chirped less frequently here, because they have the audacity to grow tired when they’re free to fly anywhere they like.

Timmy wished he were a bird right now. 

It was misery that the only thing he had to rely on was the flat land piercing splinters through his feet, which also meant that the only way he could move was by dragging them along the tired old floor. Armie was similar in the sense that he seemed tired, trekking only a few steps behind Timmy and he had put on a pair of sunglasses. Timmy knew this because he had stolen a glance behind him, took Armie in for what he was worth, decided it was a lot, a dollar at least, and then he had taken his own glasses and put them to rest snuggly on the bridge of his nose. 

As they walked, Timmy actually found himself being glad that they had somehow come to the unanimous decision, without ever uttering a word, that this was not the time for talking. They just needed to get from point A to point B and when the time came for talking, however, they would go about it, it would be on nobody’s terms but rather the necessity for human interaction because after all, this was going to be two long weeks together. They’d have to catch up at some point.

That being said, he did still wish that the sound of his jewellery clinking wasn’t the only sound that could be heard. It was painful enough having to share an enclosed space with him but with nothing to be said, just walking through the _forest_ was already proving to be such a hard task.

Timmy adjusts some of his bracelets and fiddles with a couple rings. Now that he gives it a second thought, it wouldn’t actually be so bad to pretend that nothing was weird about this at all. They could make jokes, piss each other off, and then at least he could hear his voice instead of the weird mechanical breathing that Armie’s got going on right now.

But Armie doesn’t give him anything and stays quiet for the most part. The only switch-up was when he would start sniffing or clearing his throat and Timmy didn’t exactly like this but it was better than nothing. 

He starts to fidget with the suitcase in his hand, tapping on the handle and clicking his tongue, distracting himself with just anything and everything he can think of. The trees look nice. That’s good. The map also indicates that they’re heading South and luckily, their own little cabin-treehouse combo is not far off from here.

Timmy thinks about saying something like “Not long now” as a simple nod of acknowledgment but before he does, he looks behind and sees Armie looking down at his own map already - obviously having had the same idea. And so, Timmy turns back around and waits for Armie to speak up instead, because honestly, if he had a brain or a care in the world, he’d know that Timmy is thinking the same thing and he could offer him a word of reassurance like “Oh good, we’re finally here,” in that overly optimistic tone that Timmy sometimes hates but it’s all he knows and he would do anything to get it back. 

But nothing comes out of his mouth this time and he sniffs once again, so loudly that it made Timmy jerk his neck. He really tries but can’t help the venom that spits from his mouth, “Are you sick?” He snaps, turning his head to look at him.

Armie shrugs, “Not sick. It’s hay fever.”

“Playing up?”

“Mmm.”

Timmy turns his attention back to the path and bites on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t like this one bit, the new brick wall that’s taken place of his Armie. And yet, finds himself already starving to hear his voice again. He tries, “There’s barely any grass out here, or pollen.” And pauses for effect, “Yet here you are with your hay fever. I’ve never gotten hay fever.”

Silence.

“Why are you here?” Timmy prods.

“Same reason you’re here.”

Good. That’s peaked his interest. “Which is?”

“For sentimental value.”

Timmy considers this, “I don’t think it’s sentimental.” He says.

“No?”

“Nuh-uh, I think you’re here because you have nothing better to do.” Timmy crushes a leaf with his foot.

“Right. And how do you know what I have to do?”

“You’re always looking for something to keep you distracted. You came here – well, to LA - because you wanted to relax, to – what was it you said – oh yeah,” Timmy deepens his voice in mockery, “ _to kick back, grab beer with the guys._ ” 

“So I did.” Armie clicks his tongue, “And why did you move?”

“To get away from people like you.”

“People like me…”

“Yup, people like you who think the world moves according to them.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It doesn’t. But I’m starting to find I don’t care and it’s not like I can get away from you anyway. You always end up bumping into me. The street, the store, and now here.” Timmy gasps. “You following me?”

“You sure you’re not the one who’s sick?”

Timmy lowers his glasses and looks behind so that Armie can get a feel for his I’m-not-fucking-around face. It works and Armie backs off a little, “I just mean you’re… different… today,” He says, more cautiously now.

“I’m fine.”

“Fine isn’t good.”

“I don’t _have_ to be good, Armie.” 

And that’s the moment that words seem to go up in the air and hang there for a second because it feels like saying anything now might break them indefinitely.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

They walk with unresolved tension weighing down their feet.

Armie speaks again, his voice sounding smaller, “I just prefer it when you’re nice to me.” 

Shit. 

Timmy’s heart clenches.

“Sorry” is on the tip of his tongue.

“Well maybe if you shut up, we can get there faster and I’ll think about being nicer to you.” And that’s the last thing Timmy says to him before they arrive because a few more minutes spent in silence carries them quickly through the woods and then they round a corner, walk up to the patio of a low dwelling in the heart of the woods. Their cabin, complete with lanterns and oakwood sits pretty on the decking, a few wildflowers surround it and the walls look sun-baked yet tasteful. It’s perfect, fit for two and their home for the next fourteen days.

_Their home for the next fourteen days._

They put their luggage down and stand there, admiring its exterior.

“Home, sweet home,” Armie says and he nudges Timmy with his elbow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm


	9. I'm Back At Camp With Armie!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their two weeks together...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you saw this posted in the wrong format, no you didn't). 
> 
> Sorry I’m a *little* late yall. This went through a million different changes. I ended up writing about 25 fucking k, then it was 20k, then it was 10. I just had so much I wanted it to say and so much of it had to be changed but in the end we got 14k. I hope y’all like it :n

Timmy dumps his bag on the kitchen countertop and takes a look around their new living room-kitchen combo. Strangely, the two rooms have been placed at the back of the cabin, accessible only through a snug hallway branching off from the rest of the house. 

The actual living room is decorated lavishly in tartan and plaid mostly, but then there are a few square lanterns hanging off the walls, giving the whole room an ethereal glow.

Timmy takes up a cushion from one of the couches and sits down. He finds a faux fur blanket in a heap on the floor and supposes that its original place is meant by the window, amongst cushions and throws that hang off an alcove. In front of him is a TV set upon a wooden cabinet, and a few ornate structures: handmade pieces like a giraffe doll that reminds him of a certain statue he keeps at home.

The room is small, intimate, and looks to be thoroughly lived in. So much so, that Timmy’s willing to bet they’ve just been dumped in the spare accommodation of a member of staff, or something like that.

Armie strides into the living room. He’s been busy taking his time to get a look around the place. He’s seen their bedrooms, wandered around the kitchen and now he’s here in his Aviators. The golden frames take up most of his face, which is a shame. Timmy can’t see his eyes, so he watches the corners of his mouth flicker upwards instead. 

He takes in the somewhat mismatched décor. “Nice.” And he’s particular, running a hand along one of the walls, nodding to himself as if to give the room his approval, as if to say, “that’ll do”.

He would say it like that, Timmy thinks, and his lips would curve around the words, and his tongue would settle at the back of his throat. He’d be soft-spoken, velvety. 

Then what would Timmy say back? He’d say, “I know what else is nice” and hate the way it sounds, but Armie would be on the same page more or less.

Or not. 

_What if he’s not?_

“Hungry?” Armie asks.

“Not yet.”

“We could get pizza. If you want.”

 _I do want._ “Only if it’s authentic. None of that greasy, half-baked bullshit.”

“So that’s a no.”

“No, what? I like pizza. Get the pizza.”

“M’kay.” Armie pulls out his phone, then hesitates, “It’s a little early don’t you think?”

It isn’t.

“Sure. I can wait.”

“Alright, I’ll call them in an hour then.” Armie winks, shoves the phone into his back pocket and leaves with no further comment Timmy spends the rest of the evening locked away in his room. He goes out occasionally to see if Armie’s around, but every time he does, sees that the door to his bedroom is closed. 

He’s obviously read Timmy’s words and his actions for rudeness and decided to avoid him at all costs. Which is ludicrous, in Timmy’s mind, absolutely insane because if he had been paying any sort of attention, he would know that it was never Timmy’s intention.

Could Armie not hear the rise in his voice when he told him he was taking the bedroom with the green accent walls and god-awful murals?

Did he honestly _not_ pick up on Timmy letting him have the bigger room instead, the one with silky satin sheets - red, luscious - because he was “too tired to care”? 

“I’m just going to take the smaller room.” He said. 

Armie was indifferent. “Cool, I’ll take the red one.”

Idiot. He should’ve known. 

Timmy ends up falling asleep somewhere between waiting for dinner and conjuring up things to say at the dining table.

He wakes up several hours later to a sudden gust of wind coming in from his window. It makes his body shake in surprise and for a moment Timmy thinks he’s dying, but then he remembers where he is and how he ended up getting here.

He pats a hand around in the dark trying to get a feel for his phone and finds it lying on the floor next to him. He flicks open the screen and sees that it’s the middle of the night. 4 fucking AM to be exact.

He immediately wakes with a jolt. And then recoils. Because it’s 4 AM, and Armie would’ve long gone to bed by now. 

But shit, he was actually looking forward to getting pizza. 

He hurls himself out of bed, slips on a t-shirt and some sweatpants and pads into the kitchen. His stomach rumbles when he thinks about how long it’s been since he’s had a proper meal and then he goes to the fridge to look for something to eat. 

Pizza is no longer an option. He sees the empty box on the counter. Armie’s already eaten without him and it’s too late to order some now.

He opens up the fridge, silently praying that there are some leftovers, but the fridge is empty. He raids the kitchen in search of cereals, ramen noodles, anything. But that’s useless too.

“Dammit.”

Timmy sulks all the way over to the other side of the room, walks around in circles for a bit and debates just going to watch some TV until he falls asleep. But then he spots something on the dining room table; a plate full of pizza, cut into neat little slices and some dipping sauce by the side. His mouth waters. The pizza looks good, but it looks like it’s been there for a while.

Timmy walks over to investigate, prods the cheese. It’s cold now. 

Armie must have gotten pretty distracted to leave a perfectly good pizza lying around…

But, oh? There’s a note by the side, a thin piece of paper folded in half. Timmy picks it up, suddenly giddy. The handwriting is an elegant scribble and with it, the note reads, 

“you snore :)”

Timmy holds the note just a little tighter, bites his cheek, frowns. 

“I do?”

He smooths a finger over the script, feeling for where pen meets paper and puts it down beside his plate.

He immediately gets to work on eating the whole thing, never once stopping to take a drink and smiling over at the note whenever it catches his eye. Once he finishes, he licks his lips and takes the plate over to the sink. (He’ll wash it up in the morning). Now, though, it’s time for bed.

* * *

The morning starts at 10AM.

Timmy trots out of bed in a blissed state, waltzes over to the shower and gets the water running. He scrubs his face, his arms and then his torso, rubbing circles into his skin and actually enjoying the way it feels now that he has extra time to waste on it.

When he gets out, he dries himself off with a cotton towel and gets a quick look at himself in the mirror. He could never really say he likes the way he looks. All skin and bone, no body hair but today he can actually make out some winning traits. Cheekbones: check. Jawline: check. Lips? That’s a maybe. 

Timmy looks handsomely tired. That’s the only way to describe it.

He shoves his legs through a fresh pair of jeans, pulls on a t-shirt and gives his hair a quick fix, before it’s off to the living room where he’ll find a good book to read. The book he picks up is in French - _The Heptaméron_ \- and he skips through to a story about a knight and a princess.

Today, he’s going to head down to the main camp building where he’ll essentially be acting as a tour guide to a bunch of 1st graders. The staff told him this over the phone and even though they prefaced it as an “option”, the stone was pretty much set the moment he answered the call.

He’s going to take the kids around the surrounding forest with the help of a select few other mentors and then they’ll check out some kind of waterfall at the end.

Timmy’s up to the middle of the book when Armie emerges from his bedroom, carrying two bags full of groceries and putting them on the kitchen counter. A pair of grey sweatpants hang loosely about is hips and he hasn’t got a shirt on.

He pulls out microwave meals, bread, chips, all the stuff they could possibly need and starts putting them away, opening up the cupboards and putting each item into neat little piles. He then walks round to the other side of the counter, takes out a nondescript packet of food and grabs a cup from a shelf. He flicks a switch and a coffee machine lights up. He moves efficiently, like a chef in a gourmet kitchen. Timmy doesn’t know what it is about that, but it just gets him.

Armie doesn’t seem to have noticed him all the much. Not until, he’s made his coffee. He turns to lean against the counter and sees Timmy curled up on the sofa with his nose buried deep into a book. Finally he says, “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

Armie makes his breakfast in silence.

“You eaten yet?”

Timmy raises his head, “What?”

“Have you eaten?” 

“Oh, no. Not yet.”

Armie takes a sip of coffee, probably catching onto the fact that Timmy is waiting for him to finish before his makes his breakfast.

“Did you _wanna_ eat?”

Timmy nods.

“I can make you something.”

“What? No, no that’s fine. Honestly. I can wait, there’s plenty of time before I have to get out there anyway.”

Timmy thinks it’s over, he goes back to reading.

“Is it because of me?” Armie asks.

“What?”

“I’m in your way, aren’t I?” He starts to clear the counter of all his things.

“No! You’re fine, I’m fine. Look, I can make something in a minute. I just wanted to finish this page.”

“Tim, I’m going to make you something.”

“Seriously, you don’t have to.”

“ _Let_ me.” He says. It’s pleading yet sturdy, gentle yet strong. Timmy mashes his lips together and nods, seeing Armie’s face soften into a warm smile. “Good.” He puts his cup down and turns around to open up a cupboard. Timmy watches him reach up into the inside with little to no effort, the muscles in his arm flexing - thinks about how when he has to get something from there, he ends up standing on his tipey-toes.

Armie doesn’t even ask what he wants. He spends the next ten minutes preparing milk, eggs and butter, bringing them to a bowl and mixing them into a batter. He places a frying pan down onto the stove and lets it heat up. Then, sifts the mix into the pan. 

Whatever he’s making, starts to smell real good.

Timmy manages gets a few more pages of his book in, and about ten minutes later, Armie puts the food down in front of him. It’s plate full of pancakes, lathered in syrup and blueberries, frosted lightly in sugar and he puts it down without saying a word.

Timmy looks up at him in amazement. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

Armie shrugs and walks away.

“Thank you so much.” Timmy says and hopes that he sounds as grateful as he feels.

The pancakes are delicious, so soft and fluffy. He leaves the blueberries by the side, tries a few just to make it look better. Armie takes notice of this when he brings his plate up to the sink.

“You don’t like blueberries?”

“Not really, I’m sorry. The rest was delicious, like seriously good, but I usually just have strawberries.”

Timmy clears his plate and washes up. Once he’s done, he can’t help but notice how empty the cabin feels. He goes in search of Armie, calls out to him but everything has gone deadly silent. 

He goes to the front door, checks the shoe rack and finds that Armie’s shoes have disappeared.

“Shit.”

Timmy didn’t get the chance to ask what he was doing today. He knows that Armie’s been paired up with the jocks and the high school dropouts, to train them in football, take them down to the gym. But he wanted Armie to know that he’s actually interested in hanging out, outside of their assigned responsibilities. He doesn’t want this to be the tone of their relationship: treading water, never saying goodbye at the door, staying quiet until they absolutely have to be in the same room together.

Timmy rubs his face and looks at the empty spot by the door. He takes it as the initiative that he should probably get going too.

* * *

The sun garnishes brightness onto the fields of the camp. Timmy stands in front of a group of sitting children and, like ducks almost, they look to him with wonder. He introduces himself, followed by three other mentors around his age. The children’s face vary from excited to confused, looking at the huge adults in front of them, and asking all sorts of unrelated questions. Timmy has to settle them down and talk them through the plan before they start to understand what’s going on.

They tell them all about the route they’re taking down the forest and into the woods. They tell them that the waterfall at the end is supposed to make it all worth it. Timmy just wonders if they’ll be able to control themselves enough until then.

Once they’re done going over the rules, Timmy looks over at the other mentors and smiles when he sees Elijah in blue. He’s a fairly tall, tatted man who was the first to greet Timmy at the door to the main building.

“Hey, weren’t you the guy that used to set the fire alarm off?” Timmy asked, after vaguely recalling a time back at camp when cigarette smoke would clog up the halls every night. “Oh yeah, that was me.” Elijah said upon their first meeting. He popped a lollipop in his mouth and shook Timmy’s hand.

Now, he stands amongst the two other mentors. They haven’t said all that much. There’s a woman with short red hair, and another with box braids. Timmy doesn’t recognise them but they look friendly, so at least there’s that.

“Okay, guys, who’s ready to get going?” The red-haired lady asks and the children scream and cheer.

The one in box braids laughs, “Alright, alright. I just want you to promise to be good. If you’re nice and polite and you listen when we ask you to, we’ll take you all down to the playground at the end, okay? How does that sound?”

The children voice their approval and start drumming on the grass.

“Okay people, let’s go.” Elijah takes lead of the group. They make their way into the main building, pass by the lady on reception and head into the leisure complex. They go through the sports hall where a group of teenagers play badminton and another play basketball. 

The building is quite large. Timmy is actually surprised by how much stuff is packed away in here. He never really had an interest in sports and the only time he would get to come in here was when he was waiting on Armie to come back after a day of training. 

From what he can tell, there’s been an upgrade since the last time he came here. Next to the badminton and tennis courts is a food hall where you can now get fast food and take-out. There’s also an arcade somewhere in the back. It’s windows are huge and open. You can see every little prize in every little machine. 

The kids take an interest.

“Please can we go in there?” One of the little girls asks, tugging on Timmy’s leg.

“Ah, I don’t think you’re quite old enough for that yet.” He gives her an apologetic smile, “But maybe next time, we can take a look.”

They head outside, back into the sunlight and down into the woods. On their way there, they pass by the theatre which looks just like it did 8 years ago. The swimming complex is just a few metres away, that too looks just like it did. Timmy feels a weird pang in his chest.

The kids remain calm for most of the journey, only stopping every once in a while to ask if they can get ice cream or to tug on Timmy’s hand whenever they need to go pee.

They end up in a field not far off and let the kids stop for a picnic. Then, it’s back to hiking up hills and they somehow end up in a spot full of rock-climbers and people speeding down zip-lines. The kids get way too excited and they have to bribe them with ice-cream to get them to simmer down.

Finally, after winding down a rocky path nearly twenty minutes later, they come to a river stretching out from hill to hill. The surrounding countryside is peaceful and birds chattering in the trees feels like a warm welcome.

They settle down for a while to watch the river go by, but they know it won’t last. The kids are already chanting “Playground, playground!” so they hurry on down to the waterfall just before they go.

It’s not a huge deal, only a small, frothy stream of water but it is nice to look at. Perfect spot to come out and read.

Even then, the gushing of water over the cliff isn’t nearly enough to silence the screaming voices beside them. They give in at last, gathering up all their stuff and heading back into the woods in search of the so-called playground.

* * *

When Timmy comes home, he feels like there’s been a tiny man trapped inside his head, scraping away at his thoughts and feelings, leaving him an empty shell of nothing but fatigue.

He kicks his shoes off, and moves swiftly down the hallway, intending to sleep for the rest of the day. It’s only 8’o’clock but he already stopped on his way back to get dinner with the other three and now he’s dying to get some rest.

He passes by Armie’s bedroom on the way and comes to a stop. 

The door is open. 

Armie’s not home.

He stands there for a minute, unsure how to feel. Armie couldn’t have gone far. Surely not.

So Timmy keeps on moving towards his bedroom, a little uneasy, but the truth is that Armie is a grown man. If he’s gone out for the night, then that’s his decision. Timmy shouldn’t be so caught up in where he is and what’s he’s doing all the time.

He throws himself onto the bed, doesn’t bother getting his jeans off but chucks his shirt to the floor. It takes a lot of writhing and wriggling but eventually he drifts off to sleep. He doesn’t hear the front door open, nor does he hear his phone ring in case Armie wanted to let him know where he was.

Timmy doesn’t get a good sleep that night.

* * *

The next day, there’s already pancakes on the table when Timmy wakes up. Still no sign of Armie.

He finds them stacked on a plate in the living room, and with them comes a note tucked underneath. Timmy opens it up with his mouth already full of food, and grins when he reads the messy handwriting.

“I heard you like strawberries” it says.

Timmy pops one into his mouth and nods. “I do.” He finishes his pancakes quickly, takes his things up to the sink and sets off for another day. His newly hired bike waits for him outside the cabin, which he paid for to make his journey a lot easier.

Once he gets there, he finds that there’s a lot of excitement amongst the children despite it being so early in the morning. Elijah gathers them round to tell them about their plans for the day. They’re going to take them down to the river again because there’s supposedly a sighting of swans and then they’ll take them to play games in the field.

Timmy helps gather the children up and instructs them to walk in pairs all the way down to the sports hall. They enter the building in an orderly manner, Timmy making sure to keep the kids close together and Elijah sidles up to him this time, letting the women take lead of the group up at the front. It’s a lot busier today and some of the older kids hang around the arcade, not smoking but probably intending to once the opportunity comes around. 

Timmy suddenly feels a tap on his left shoulder. He turns around and finds Elijah with a lollipop in his mouth, trying to get his attention. 

“What is it?”

“Look.” Elijah takes the lollipop out mouth and points it towards the courts in next to them. Timmy follows the direction of his hand but only sees a bunch of guys playing football in the distance.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“No, _look._ ”

Timmy squints trying to find whatever’s caught his attention. Nothing sticks out to him until he hears someone shout and a ball flies over the length of the court. Timmy’s breath does a stop-start. He sees Armie playing football right in front of him. His bare chest glistening with sweat as he runs for the ball, shouting curses at people whenever they miss a shot. 

“Isn’t that Armie Hammer?”

Timmy watches him snatch the ball right out of someone’s hand, throw a quick pass to somebody else and thump his chest two times when it gets in.

“I don’t know.”

“No, it’s definitely him. Look at his off-tackle. That’s him. Gotta be.”

“Okay, well, good for him, I guess. Coming back to camp after how many years to relive his glory days.”

“ _Dude,_ he’s the best player we’ve ever had. Win against him, you’d be like, a saint, or something, seriously, ‘cus it’s impossible.”

“Good thing I’m not into football, then.”

Elijah turns his head, “Jeez, what’s with you? You on your period?”

“I’m fine.”

Armie stops to take a drink over at the side lines. He tips his head back and runs a hand through his hair. Then he looks up, sees them watching him from across the way and juts his chin up at Timmy whose first instinct is to turn away. He blushes furiously under the light.

“You _know_ him?”

“No.”

“A guy with a body like that gives you the nod and you don’t know him?”

Timmy rushes to cover the ears of one of the little girl’s close by, “No, I don’t,” and gives Armie one last look over. “Whatever, let’s just go.” 

They take the same route as the one yesterday and once they get there, settle down on the grass. The river moves quietly against the bank and Timmy was skeptical at first, but the swans do actually come out to say hello, much to the kids’ delight. They scatter off to play in the grass and in the trees which Timmy finds is a good distraction, happy to just sit and watch the river go by.

Somehow he also ends up talking to Elijah, making light conversation until he comes to realise that he’s actually quite smart. Not that Timmy thought he was a dumbass, but it’s a surprise. They both studied law, he comes to find but Elijah ended up dropping out to become a tattoo artist, and it definitely checks out, Timmy thinks.

Some kids make up their own games, others play frisbee. A couple of them try dipping their feet into the water and Marcy, the one in box braids, panics, “Watch out, don’t get too close!” She says and they retreat.

Timmy also takes notice of one of the little boys sat by himself under the shade. The boy sits with his legs crossed, looking out to the river. Sometimes he picks at the grass by his feet, most of the time he’s just playing with a stick he found under a tree. Timmy walks over to him when it becomes obvious he’s not going to join in.

“You alright there little man?” 

The boy raises his head and looks up at him with teary eyes. Timmy crouches down, “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

The boy shakes his head.

“That’s okay. Do you mind if I sit here?” The boy doesn’t protest so Timmy takes a seat on the grass and for a while they watch the swans go by, listening to the faint sound of the waterfall in the back.

Timmy talks to him about all the things there is to do here, tells him it gets easier, and even though it’s clear the boy is going through something, Timmy manages to get him to come out of his shell. He finds out that his name is Henry and they make mud pies in the dirt. 

Henry doesn’t smile as much as the other kids, but Timmy can see the little cogs turning in his brain. He has a fantastic imagination. In fact, Timmy can see a little bit of himself in him.

They finish up just after lunch and head back. 

Timmy rides his bike all the way back to the cabin and has to stop himself from bursting through the door like a desperate housewife. His fears about Armie not coming home for the second time are instantly relieved when he hears the sound of the TV playing inside. 

Armie’s laying on the couch with one hand at the back of his neck. He pauses momentarily to give Timmy a once-over.

“Had fun?” 

Timmy nods, doesn’t know why but he’s suddenly gone mute. He crosses over to the kitchen and opens up the fridge where he finds a tub of pasta and picks it up. He then grabs a fork and makes his way over to the sofa so that he can sit down on the opposite end.

“How was your trip?” Armie asks. He lazily flicks through TV channels.

“It was good. The kids were adorable. We watched the swans for a bit, then I got on my bike and came straight back.”

 _For you,_ he wants to say.

“Cool. You brought a bike?”

“No, I got it hired. There’s a bike rental just off the leisure complex. You should get one.”

“Sure.”

Timmy waits for him to choose a channel. He wonders how long Armie’s been sitting here, scrolling through each show. Does he do this with Valencia? Do they have movie nights where they cuddle up under blankets and laugh at cheesy jokes? Do they plan date nights and read books together? _Does he love her?_

“I waited for you.” Timmy says.

“When?”

“Last night.”

Armie doesn’t press any further.

“Where were you?” Timmy asks.

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Had to run a few errands.” 

Armie lands on a channel playing a gameshow, which immediately deters Timmy’s train of thought. The crowd cheers and the host, in a bright orange suit, comes out to greet the contestants. _“Welcome, welcome!”_ He says. 

Timmy finds it all a bit too artificial.

After going over the basics of the game and how to play, the contestants get ready to start competing. It’s a standard game of trivial knowledge, answer as many questions as possible, beat the clock. Timmy finds himself answering the questions in his head to see if he’d be any good on a show like this. Sometimes, it gets the better of him and he starts shouting at the screen.

Armie on the other hand seems complicit to just sit back and relax. Occasionally, he’ll correct Timmy and a few seconds later, the right answer comes through. He gets it right every single time.

“How do you do that?”

Armie shrugs.

They keep watching the show, all the way to the end in fact and it goes by so much more quickly than Timmy would’ve liked. The end credits rolls and for a second Timmy thinks he’s going to get up and go, but after stretching his back and yawning, Armie asks, “What are you doing today?”

Timmy shrugs, “I’m going bowling later.” He pauses, “With Elijah.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“My friend.”

“Do you like even bowling?”

Timmy tilts his head, “Does it matter?”

“No.”

“What about you? What are you doing today?”

“I’m going to the gym.”

The room goes quiet. Timmy can hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, “You know I’m free tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“You could take me to the gym.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“To work out.” Timmy adds like it wasn’t clear enough.

“I don’t think you’d like it.”

“What, don’t think I’m strong enough?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

Armie picks up the remote and turns the TV up louder. Another episode of the same show comes on.

The host goes through the rules, discusses the winning prize and then it’s back to quickfire questions. Timmy tries not to but can’t help it when he ends up shouting at the screen. In the midst of a really intense round, he does notice that Armie’s foot has crept closer and closer to his thigh, but Timmy doesn’t question it any more than that.

_“What is the chemical symbol for Potassium?”_

“‘K’” Timmy says.

_“The correct answer is K!”_

_“How many Grammy’s does John Legend have?”_

“Uh, five?”

_“The correct answer is eleven!”_

He gets worse and worse the longer it goes on, and one contestant starts to really piss him off because he keeps getting the answers right, powering through every single question, meanwhile Timmy struggles to even get one. 

He points at the screen and jeers, “What’s with this guy? Yeah, he’s got a PHD and all, but hasn’t he got better things to do? Somebody else probably needs that money way more than him and I-”

Timmy gets cut off by Armie’s foot digging into his crotch suddenly. He yelps and cries out in surprise, “Shit, Armie! What was that for?”

“I can’t hear.”

Timmy shifts uncomfortably but decides that he’s probably right. He has been talking non-stop, “Sorry.” He mutters and goes back to watching the screen.

The gameshow host brings on another guest and that’s when the game starts to liven up. The audience is enthralled. They clap and cheer and make whooping noises whenever somebody gets a question right. Timmy is glued to the screen, a little embarrassed by how invested he’s become but enjoying it all the same. 

When one of the players gets a question wrong, like horribly wrong, he groans, “That wasn’t even hard. What the fuck?” 

“ _Tim._ ”

“Sorry.”

The contestants fly through another round. The host is encouraging and tries to give them as many hints as possible. He’s also hyping up the crowd and cracking jokes in between. The two of them watch in amused silence. But there’s a lump in Timmy’s throat – something that’s keeping him from concentrating on the game – and it’s not going away. 

Armie’s foot continues to press into his skin, the heel coming to rest directly above the base of his cock and when he moves, it moves, and digs into him… 

Deeper, deeper…

_“How many holes are in a ten-pin bowling ball?”_

_“That’s right, the correct answer is three.”_

Another win for the team.

Timmy tries to concentrate on the win but just can’t when the base of Armie’s foot is supplying a warmth so tender that it makes his cock tingle. 

It’s not long before Timmy starts to harden in his jeans and he swallows, hoping that Armie doesn’t pick up on anything suspicious. Hopes that Armie doesn’t take notice of the way his thighs tense up, or how his skin has turned to fire. 

Blood pumping, head aching, Timmy has to fight back the urge to thrust up onto Armie’s foot, use it for his own pleasure, _cum on his skin._

_”In which sport would you use a shuttlecock?”_

Timmy whimpers and immediately turns to hide his face.

“Seriously, Tim? I can’t hear shit.” Armie says but it would be hard for him to miss the way Timmy blushes at that. It would be hard for him _not_ to see how flustered he’s become.

Whenever something funny happens, Timmy forces out a laugh to cover up his embarrassment, but it’s always choked up and pathetic and Armie keeps his heel locked in place. He digs into Timmy’s throbbing cock, rubs up and down the shaft. Keeps pressing and pressing. Timmy squirms but keeps whimpering to a minimum, choked up behind bitten lips.

A particularly long stroke up and down makes Timmy whimper feebly and he throws his head back. 

Once Armie finds the right spot, he doesn’t let up. Timmy moans out loud now and it takes all his effort not to start crying from the stimulation.

Armie taunts, “Tim, I’m tryna watch TV,” and turns the volume up, but his actions are contradictory. He lets Timmy keen over the sensation, pressing into him more and more. It makes Timmy feel like a toy.

He uses the pad of Armie’s foot to play with himself, covers his mouth with one hand so that he can keep quiet and uses the other hand to press Armie’s heel down, directing him to where it hits the hardest. He finds a good spot and from then on, every little whimper that comes from Timmy’s mouth earns him a volume up on the TV. Still, Armie lets him fuck himself against it.

He moans around the palm covering his mouth, tries to keep quiet, be good for Armie but as he does so, the game gets more intense. The questions pummel like rapid fire, making for success after success. The crowd laughs, they cheer, they scream. Louder, louder.

Timmy sobs and the volume goes up.

He keeps thrusting up against the heel, producing moans that are half-mewls, half-strangled cries and feels it rush towards the tip. His balls are suddenly drawing up, getting tighter and tighter.

A round of applause breaks out and the winner of the show is announced. Timmy cries out in a desperate heat. The cum spills out of his cock in tandem and he gasps, riding it out, coming on a long drawn out whimper and only then does Armie remove his foot. 

He leaves him a writing, panting mess, Timmy crossing his legs tighter just to chase the feeling, well aware of how pathetic he must look, Armie having to watch him fall apart like this, but he can’t help it.

“So desperate.” Armie says. He switches the TV off and Timmy thinks he’s going to move closer but he gets up instead, “I’m going to the store. You want anything?”

Timmy’s still trying to gain consciousness. He writhes on the sofa, can’t even string thoughts together, let alone formulate a sentence. After a while, the words come together in his head. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” Armie says. He grabs his keys, his wallet, throws on a pair of shoes, and heads for the door.

“Wait, Armie- _What?_ “ 

He’s already fucking gone before Timmy has the chance to catch up. He spends a few minutes drenched in his own cum. His pants are soaked, and his legs have gone weak. It’s filthy. And Armie did that to him. Or, rather, Armie didn’t do anything at all? 

Timmy struggles to get up for a while, hung up on the reality of what just happened. He lifts himself up off the couch when it gets to be too much, and hisses at the sensitivity. A shower is the next most logical option.

He limps all the way down the hallway to his bedroom where strips down to his underwear and turns on the shower, waiting for it to warm up before throwing all of his dirty clothes into the hamper. He takes a step inside and lets the hot water soothe his muscles, scrubbing thoroughly and dousing himself in body wash. He tries to get into a relaxed state but his mind wanders and he starts to think that maybe, just maybe, Armie ran away to get condoms.

 _No, of course he hasn’t._ Valencia still exists. Nothing that can be done about that. 

And yet…

Nobody does that to someone unless they plan to fuck them. Right?

He chances the idea, pictures them together. He’s thought about it, of course. But not here. Not like this. Timmy didn’t think they’d even get to this point at all and now he’s faced with the opportunity. Does he take it or not?

He makes sure to wash every last inch of his body and then hops out of the shower to get into something more comfortable. It’s not anything special, just a standard black t-shirt and some sweatpants but the underwear he chooses is a little more intentional. Tight black briefs.

Once he’s ready, he makes his way back into the living room and stops when he sees the dreaded ghost spot of where he came around Armie’s heel (doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get that image out of his head). Still, there’s not much else to do other than wait around. He sits and watches the clock count down, 5, 10, 15… 

He ends up waiting half an hour, scrolling through his phone and then picking up a book, getting bored within the first couple of minutes and putting it down. He checks that his armpits are clean, fiddles with his shirt, pulls out some lip balm and applies it.

When it gets to forty minutes, that’s when he becomes antsy. He texts Armie right away: 

**Where are you????**

And stares at his phone. He’s going to respond. Just give it time. He waits, and he waits. 

He looks at the message again and thinks that maybe the question marks were a bit much. He doesn’t want to come across too needy.

But Timmy’s not needy per say. He’s just curious. 

_Where are you? Did I say something wrong?_

Okay, the question marks were excessive. He’s just gone to get groceries. At this time of day? Yes, of course. He’s a grown man. Grown men… other men. He’s gone to ram the backdoors in of some other guy. Timmy taps in a message. 

**WHERE ARE YOU?**

He looks at the time: three in the afternoon. He’s meant to be at Elijah’s place in fifteen minutes. If Armie doesn’t come running through that door in the next _two_ , he’s going to scream.

Ping! New message (1). Timmy falls off the couch.

 **ELIJAH: Hey man, let me know when you’re close. I got word in that they do special service for anyone who can get 20 strikes. ;)**

Timmy doesn’t know if he can even make it off the floor. There’s an incessant hum of worry and panic at the possibility that Armie’s really gone and left him for good, and that leaves him with a pit in his stomach. If things should end like this, him lying on the cold hard floor whilst Armie stays doing God-knows-what, it would be a real shame if their last moments together were of a footjob and the words, “I’m going to the store.”

**TIMMY: be there in a few**

He grabs his keys from where they sit on the coffee table, brushes his hair lightly and gets up from the floor. The journey to Elijah’s place isn’t far. From what he’s been told, there’s a bunch of other cabins located in the southern part of the camp which is only about a five minute walk from here. Timmy leaves through the front door and starts walking up to his place. When he gets there, he taps his knuckles on the door and waits for him to come out. Elijah appears looking not that much different from when they hiked earlier. Except there’s a tabby cat in his arms and Elijah rests the thing on his hip.

“Ready?” He asks.

Timmy swings back and forth on his feet, “Yup.” 

The cat gets put down on the porch and Elijah steps out. “Cool, I didn’t think you’d come.” He says.

Timmy looks puzzled, “Why not?”

Elijah takes the lead and starts to walk at a reasonable pace. He hums and looks up into the sky, “With you locked up with Hammer and all, I thought I’d be left alone to rot.” Timmy doesn’t say anything. The wildflowers and woodrush sway in the breeze.

“Because you guys have history,” Elijah muses. “That’s dangerous.”

“We do not.”

“Alright, well you either do or you don’t. It doesn’t matter to me.” 

“Then why bring it up?” Timmy asks.

Elijah proceeds to take a lighter from his back pocket. He hands Timmy the lighter and produces a packet of cigarettes, taking one from the box and motioning for Timmy to light it up. Timmy gives in with reluctance.

“It’s one of the first things you said.” Elijah continues, blowing out the first puff of smoke and holding it between his fingers.

“What?”

“On Tuesday, at the reception. You asked me if I was the fire alarm guy. I told you I was and then we shook hands. Correct?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what that’s got to do with-“

“And then you asked me if I had heard of an Armie Hammer, did you not?”

Timmy’s eyes widen, “No, I didn’t?” 

“Oh yes you did. Crystal clear. That’s what you said.”

“But why would I say that?”

“I don’t know.”

Timmy thinks it over. He has no recollection of anything at all.

“Prove it.” Timmy says. “Go on, if you’re so sure. He’s a college dropout with no real qualifications. What would I get out of going around with him?”

“Woah, woah don’t get pissy because it’s true. You got history, so what?”

Timmy rolls his eyes and looks towards some squirrels that run up and down a tree. “I don’t know.” He says. The shock waves of what had happened only an hour ago course through his body. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s always complicated.” Elijah retorts, “If I had a dime for every time I heard that... Man, I’d be somebody.” 

“Sorry, just-“ Timmy sighs. “Can we talk about something else, please? It’s kind of a touchy subject.”

“Alright.” Elijah takes a long puff from his cigarette, squinting his eyes at the dimming sunlight. “How do you feel about tattoos?”

“They’re cool.”

“Would you get one?”

Timmy thinks it over, “Uh, it depends.”

“On what?”

“On how big it is. Like, I wouldn’t want it taking up my whole arm, for example.”

Elijah nods lazily like he has all the time in the world, “That’s fair. Not too big. Okay.” There is a length of silence between them, “So I could give you a tattoo?” He asks with a grin.

Timmy sighs inwardly, “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

At the heart of the town, in some dingy street corner is the Hollywood Bowl where Timmy spends the next three hours playing countless rounds of bowling. At one point, Timmy gets a crick in his neck. Elijah offers to give him a massage which Timmy politely declines making up a story and telling him that it happens all the time. That swiftly wards him off.

For the most part, Elijah is sweet. He offers to buy Timmy dinner when it gets to be late in the evening. Timmy is reluctant accept but in the end decides that a free meal isn’t exactly worth saying no to. 

They get burgers and chips at the back of some old run-in diner. Timmy keeps himself to himself and uses his food as an excuse not to look Elijah in the eyes. Whenever he gets the chance, he checks his phone in the hopes that Armie decided to get back to him. Not so luckily, he’s met with disappointment every single time. 

If only he knew how easily Timmy would be willing drop everything and go if only he would _text._ If he did it right now, let Timmy know where he is, he might even considering begging. He’s feeling low enough in the moment that he doesn’t actually care if Armie should turn him down. And if he does, well… there are always alternatives.

Elijah drops him off at the cabin, which granted, is kind of endearing. He could have simply left him at the street corner. It’s not like they were on a date. Although, towards the end, things did start to get blurry. Timmy may have flirted here and there, only because he was so bored.

“Well, this was fun.” Timmy says, swinging his arms awkwardly.

Elijah keeps a safe distance at the doorstep. He twiddles a lollipop stick in between his fingers and leans against the opposing wall. “Yeah, real fun.” He says. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

Elijah nods in the half-light, catching silver in his brazen hair. “You got my number, right?”

“Mhm, saved and recorded. Locked and loaded. All ten of ‘em.”

Elijah laughs a little disoriented, “You are a funny one.” He says, drawing out his voice, and Timmy hums.

“Thank you, sir.”

Elijah perks up. “You call everyone that?”

“No.”

“Just me?”

“No.”

Elijah takes him in for a second, “Shame.” He says and taps his lips in thought, “I really like when you call me that.” 

Timmy’s tongue gets lodged in his throat. He swallows involuntarily. “Oh.” And he looks around as if someone’s watching. There’s really nothing else to do. He just wants to get inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He offers. “Fort-building, right? Those kids, I think they’ll like it.”

“Yeah.”

“So, I guess this is it.”

“Right.” Elijah takes a step forward, “You sure you don’t wanna invite me in?”

“Why would I-“ Timmy stumbles a little trying to keep his footing. “No, I’m quite sure.” 

“Because we could take this further if you want.”

Timmy shakes his head, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do. C’mon don’t play dumb here, we both know what I mean.”

“I don’t want to.”

Elijah sighs, “Okay, my bad.” and puts the space up between them again. “In that case, I hope you have a good night. Just call me whenever you’re free. I’m like blue-balling here.”

“Noted.” Timmy moves to shut the door, ready to just let this night end where it needs to.

“Call me.” Elijah says finally before setting off into the other direction.

“Yup. Thanks.” Timmy calls out to him, watching him round the corner and up the rocky path. He waits until he’s completely out of sight to slam the door closed and then lets out an exasperated breath. Finally. He’s home. 

It’s when his feet finally hit the floor that he realizes just how tired he is. He’s been through enough today. He just needs to get some sleep and maybe tomorrow things will make sense.

He starts by grabbing his foot and yanking his shoe off, too lazy to untie the laces or bend down at the waist, but the struggle ends up going on for far too long. Timmy loses his balance multiple times and it’s a battle of tug of war between him and the shoe.

“Hey, what’s going on?” 

Timmy turns around immediately. “Oh shit, hi.” 

Armie comes to stand at the door. “Been busy?”

Timmy huffs, “If bowling is busy, then sure.” He gets his shoe off and throws it in the general direction of the shoe rack. “What kind of question is that anyway? Yeah, I been busy, Armie. We all been busy.” The shoe lands in a heap on the floor. “Besides, why do you care?”

Armie watches him stumble back and forth, “Are you drunk?”

“No, just really, really, tired.” Timmy admits. He wiggles his foot desperately and nearly falls over. The other shoe comes off with a pop and he notices a smile spread across Armie’s face.

“Don’t laugh at me.” He says and tries to push past him.

Armie doesn’t move and Timmy stumbles back. “Hey, can you move?” He pushes him again.

Armie stays put. He’s is a big guy. Timmy tries again, shoves him in the chest this time. Still, no progress. “Move.” He whines and pushes him one more time. “Armie, move! I wanna sleep.”

Armie pushes him back, not forcefully, but just enough that Timmy has to catch himself, “Woah, easy.” He lands with two feet on the floor. “Nearly knocked me.” And that’s when he finally looks up and sees Armie standing shirtless in the hallway looking stern as ever. He hadn’t even realised he was dressed like that. All tight muscle pulled to the forefront. His collarbone looks particularly good today, all stretched out and breaching across those two broad shoulders, and shit, his tan. That tan was made especially for him.

“Who was that?” Armie asks.

“Elijah. I told you that already.”

Armie crosses his arms, “You didn’t answer any of my calls.” 

“What are you talking about? You didn’t answer any of my texts!”

“What texts?”

“The ones I sent!”

“Well, I didn’t see any.”

“Well, maybe you should’ve looked.” Timmy snaps, “And anyway, what calls? I never got any calls? You went silent for hours. If I would’ve known you had called me, I would’ve called right back.”

"Fuck.”

“What?”

“I think I know what happened.”

“Go on.”

“I must’ve called your old number.”

“My old number? I don’t have an old… Wait, unless you mean the one from?”

“Camp. Yeah.” Armie pulls out a little blue phone and waves it around in his hand. The screen is cracked, the edges frayed somehow. “My phone broke, I’ve been using this shitty thing for the past week. It’s a pain in the ass but it gets the job done.” He says, “I haven’t used it since…”

“Wow.” 

“Yeah.” Static.

“Well, at least that’s been cleared up. Goodnight.” Timmy moves to brush past him but is stopped by something nudging him in the shoulder. Armie has a hand on him, forcing him to stay put. He looks to be thinking about something. 

“Wait, so what were you trying to tell me?”

Timmy looks away. “Nothing. I was just wondering where you were.”

“That’s it?” He seems surprised.

“That’s it.” Armie stands looking at him for a moment, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed like he’s holding onto something.

Timmy shrugs. “Okay, so can I go now?”

Armie hesitates but eventually moves to the side and extends an arm out in gest, allowing Timmy to walk past freely.

“Thanks.” He says and starts walking down the hall. On his way, he can’t help but feel guilty. 

“Goodnight, Armie.” He says quickly, not wanting to end on a bad note.

“Goodnight.” 

They go their separate ways. Timmy into his bedroom. Armie into the living room, the feeling of the unspoken seems to weigh everything down and the night feels cold. More so than it has ever been, and Timmy doesn’t know if it’s because he could’ve made a move or if it’s because...

Everything was right there in front of him, laid out perfectly, and yet something felt wrong. The sudden interaction caught him off guard and he panicked – made himself out to be this rude person, and became defensive to protect himself. Now it’s like they’ve gone back to square one. 

Timmy struggles to fall asleep despite his complaints about being tired, the thought of Armie leaving him making him restless. Even if they’re not _technically_ on bad terms, it still feels like Timmy’s going to end up sabotaging them somehow. He’s destructive like that, always knows just how to ruin things when things start looking up.

* * *

The next day, Timmy wakes up super early and covers his eyes from the piercing sunlight coming in through his window. He feels groggy and grey, like all the time spent fawning over last night has built up inside. He remembers that previous afternoon and how he almost lost his mind over a couple texts. It seems so stupid now but who’s to say it won’t happen again?

He rolls out of bed and pads into the kitchen to make some cereal. Once finished, he sits down on the couch - the dreaded couch - and eats it there. Armie walks in a couple minutes later, with a backpack in his hand and some boxing gloves at the ready.

“What are you doing?” Timmy asks, looking up from his meal to follow him with his eyes.

Armie dumps the bag onto the kitchen counter and shrugs. “I’m going to the gym.” He wears a black sleeveless vest and matching sweatpants. The boxing gloves also match but they have some kind of weird embellishment on them that looks to be the initials of his name. 

“Cool gloves.” Timmy notes.

“Thanks.” 

He takes a roll of cotton out from his bag, a thick wheel of bandage tape that unravels piece by piece as Armie strips it off. The bandages wrap around his hands, going in circles until his entire fist is covered, then he does the same to the other hand. 

Timmy finds it mesmerising and doesn’t realise he’s been staring until Armie calls him out. He looks up from his hands and blinks back at Timmy.

“You okay?” He says.

Timmy nearly chokes. “Yeah, yeah, fine.”

Armie goes back to his bag and shoves a water bottle into the pocket, then he walks over to the coffee table to pick up a couple fruit. Timmy accidentally catches him staring and blushes, looking away.

Armie clears his throat and stands up taller, rolling an apple between his hands. “Are you, uhh-“ He pauses, “What are you doing today?” 

“Oh, me? Nothing.” Timmy says confidently, and then remembers, “Well, okay, not nothing. I have uhh, some things to do later on... Like fort-building or something. But it’s whatever.”

Armie nods and looks at the apple between his hands. “Cool.”

There’s a bit of an awkward silence.

“Do you wanna come to the gym?” 

“With you?”

“That’s the idea.”

Timmy worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I-uhh..”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s fine.”

“No, I do.” Timmy says quickly, realises he sounds desperate and recoils, “I mean, yeah. I would love to.”

Armie grins, “Okay, cool.” He takes a step back and nods towards the hallway, “Get changed. I’ll wait outside.”

“Alright.” Timmy gets up immediately and hurries to get changed. He spends some time rummaging through his luggage in search of an appropriate outfit. The only things he can pick out are some mid-length shorts and a vest, but he decides it’s probably the best choice seeing as he’s going to be sweating a lot. He shoves the outfit on and leaves through the front door.

When he gets there, Armie’s up against the wall with one hand shoved in his pocket, the other on his phone. He looks up and smiles when he sees Timmy by the door. “Nice?” Timmy does a little spin to show off his outfit.

“Very nice.” Armie says. “You ready?” Timmy nods and they set off for the gym.

* * *

The first thing Armie does when they get there is get out a pair of gloves for Timmy to try. He wraps a few bandages around his hands and tells him to start punching. Timmy looks at him like he’s crazy.

“Like now? Just do it?”

“Go on.” He gestures towards the bag.

Timmy takes one step forward, timidly touches the bag, and looks back at him.

“Go on. It’s okay.” Armie says. “Look I’ll show you.” He steps up behind Timmy and grabs his elbow, nudging his arm forward in a punching motion. He moves it back and forth, back and forth, keeping Timmy’s fist in line with the bag.

“Your striking force should be in the first two knuckles. Don’t overthink it, just feel it move from your core. Ground yourself. Remember to breathe.”

Armie keeps saying all this stuff and Timmy just nods like an idiot.

He throws a few punches. They’re not great but he’s fairly confident he can do better. Armie keeps up with the encouragements, making sure his punches connect. Most of them do. Others make his arm hurt.

“Hey, remember to keep your feet flat.”

Timmy does, and then he punches again. Harder, this time. The feeling coming from his shoulder and passing down into his arm, making the hit land with a hard thud. He is a bit surprised by his own strength and flinches. 

“Good. Keep that up.” 

Timmy can’t help but smile at the praise. He goes back to punching, each hit getting more and more aggressive. The longer he stays punching, 2, 3, breathe, 2, 3, breathe, the more he wants to prove himself. 

At some point, Armie decides that he’s good enough on his own and goes to lift some weights in the corner. The gym is completely empty, which is a good thing. Timmy doesn’t want anybody to come in and interrupt this. He likes spending time with Armie, likes watching him work out and most of all likes seeing him break a sweat in the wall mirror every now and then.

Whenever Timmy lands a punch, he looks back to see if Armie caught it. Armie does make a comment eventually when he sees that Timmy has been going at it for quite some time. He tells him to slow down if it’s getting too much, which Timmy just interprets as “you’re not good enough.”

Instead, he speeds up, each punch landing harder than the last. The bag gets tussled and thrown everywhere, and Timmy starts to feel the anger bubble up inside of him, fearful that he’s not doing a good job.

After a while, his knuckles hurt and his punches start to get sloppy. He looks back to see if Armie’s paying attention but he’s busy lifting weights. The next punch earns him a shock that goes straight through his arm and rattles his nerve endings. Timmy yelps out in pain.

“Ow, fuck!” 

“Shit, what have you done?” Armie says, already rushing over to assist him. He takes Timmy’s wounded fist into his hands and turns it over, looking for damaged spots. 

“Where does it hurt?” He asks.

“Everywhere, oh my God.” 

“Okay, let’s sit down.” Armie takes them to a table in the corner, sitting them down carefully and taking a seat on the other end. He scoots closer, cupping Timmy’s hand from the bottom.

“I think you may have fractured it.” He says.

Timmy hisses at a particularly weak spot where his fingers feel like splinters have pierced them, “Oh God, please don’t say that.”

“Well, we still don’t know for sure. If it dies down within a few minutes, you’ll be fine. Just don’t try to move it.” 

Armie gets up and goes into a little room next door. He comes back with a bag of ice and some towels. Then, sits down to take a hold of Timmy’s hand, wrapping it up in the ice and guiding him to rest it there.

“Does that help?” Armie asks, “I know it’s not great but it’s the best we can do.”

“Yeah, it’s a little better.” He says, the ice having soothed him even if it’s really Armie who’s making him feel better. 

They let the time go by, his hand slowly coming back to life with the added help. Armie gets up in the meantime to tidy up the gym and Timmy watches him put the equipment away, cleaning up and wiping down surfaces. He looks professional and it’s not helping that he keeps looking up and smiling whenever Timmy catches his eye. He’s going to need an ice pack for something else if Armie keeps doing that.

When he’s finished, he walks off and disappears into the next room. He comes back with a bottle of water and hands it over for Timmy to drink.

“Here.” He says. “Oh, wait.” Armie takes the bottle and unscrews the cap. “Forgot that.”

“Thank you.” 

They wait about twenty minutes for the swelling to die down and then Armie asks him if he’s feeling any better. 

“It’s getting there.” Timmy says.

“Do you feel like you can move it?”

He experiments by moving his fingers a little. “Yeah, it’s starting to feel normal again. Still kinda stingy, but I don’t think it’s broken.”

“Good, good.”

Armie takes his hand and turns it around in his own. He seems to be looking for bumps and when he doesn’t find any, looks up. “Do you want bandages?”

“Um-“

“No, don’t worry. I’ll get bandages. You need them. “ He finds a roll of cotton from somewhere in his backpack and wraps Timmy’s hand up carefully. Once that’s done, he sits back in his chair and says, “I think that’s enough for one day,” and Timmy couldn’t agree more. “You wanna head back home?” 

_Home._ Timmy thinks. He likes the sound of that. “Yeah.” He says. 

They soon head back home with Timmy walking by his side, his hand now in recovery but he’s already forgotten about that because whenever Armie looks his way, he smiles. He starts to talk to him about random things like what he’s going to do when they get back. He suggests making noodles like the ones he’s seen online recently. Armie hums and tells him it sounds good. Then he’s off rambling about some meals he’s made in the past, how he could never really cook but enjoys it anyway. They talk about what movie they want to see tonight – which is mostly a one-sided conversation with Timmy rambling away – but Armie nods approvingly so it seems to be working, and the conversation lasts all the way until they reach their doorstep. Armie steps aside to let him through the door and Timmy buzzes off, shoes already kicked off by the door.

That night, Timmy makes them dinner. (He tries lunch but it fails miserably). He spends a good few hours trying to figure out the recipe and then preparing everything into a pan. It takes a while but he ends up making something to be proud of and they eat happily. Armie tells him he has plans tomorrow but that they shouldn’t take up the whole day and Timmy nods, not trying to appear disappointed.

“You’ll be back in the evening though, right?” He asks and is relieved to hear that he will be. It soothes him a little to know that he won’t be alone but it’s also distressing to know that he has to wait around all day. Something about Armie not being with him all the time makes him anxious.

“It’s just training. It shouldn’t take too long.” He says, and Timmy hopes to God that it’s true.

* * *

A week later.

Things have changed. 

Over the course of the week, Timmy’s grown to really depend on Armie. It all started from the moment he got here, waiting around, checking to see if he had come home, getting notes and random acts of kindness that made his heart melt and now he’s lying in Armie’s bed, wrapped up in his sheets and holding them close, as if letting them go will let him go forever. 

He doesn’t even know how he ended up here. One minute he’s with Elijah, the next he’s clutching Armie’s pillow, holding it to his nose and sniffing as tears roll down his cheek, staining the perfectly red satin. It had all been going so well and Timmy just had to ruin it, didn’t he? He wipes his eyes desperately with the damp sweater paw rubbing his cheek, tries to get himself together. Armie’s going to be back soon. He had said so, and yet here he is making a fool out of himself.

What started off as a good week quickly descended into a frenzy of emotion in which Timmy began to doubt every little thing he did, never feeling good enough and wondering when was the next time Armie was going to appear. He suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe if Armie wasn’t home on time, or if Armie had taken an extra minute to respond to his text, it made him frantic, like he was hanging on by a thread. And then the moment came where he would finally arrive, and he noticed it too – noticed how Timmy would go quiet, sometimes not talking to him for days at a time.

One day, Timmy decided enough was enough. He caught Armie one afternoon, just as he was heading out for the day, and asked if he wanted to go bowling that night. He said he planned to invite Elijah but really he only said that so as to not look desperate. Armie stopped, and frowned – paused even to take him in. It made Timmy slightly uncomfortable as if he was being scrutinized. In the end, Armie said no and it took all of Timmy’s might not to punch that beautiful face right in its beautiful nose.

“Okay.” He said through gritted teeth. 

He let Armie get on his way, to do whatever it is he does and that was it, he didn’t see him for the rest of the night. Because that night, he did go bowling, with Elijah right by his side. They had fun, actually. In the end, Timmy was happy because it meant that he had a distraction, a fun little toy to play with now that he felt himself getting deeper and deeper into the shit. 

Elijah was his usual self, whatever that means (Timmy hadn’t even known him all that long, but it felt like that was the appropriate description) and what Timmy got was all he seemed to offer. So it was good in a way, knowing what to expect. And maybe that security was what landed him in bed with the guy. 

So yeah, he made a huge mistake, and it ended up in him running home to Armie who wasn’t actually home when he got there, still on a night out or whatever, “running errands”, the usual. Timmy found himself gravitating towards Armie’s room before he could stop it and he landed on his bed with a thump, the tears falling of their own accord the moment his head hit the pillow. He held Armie’s sheets to his face and cried for all the camp to hear.

He’s still not much better now, although the pain has stopped. No. Lie. It hasn’t stopped, it’s just dulled. He grabs another pillow from the headboard and brings it to his face. It smells just like him, strong, heady. He feels himself go lightheaded from the aroma. He brings another pillow closer to his body and holds it tight. Now he’s surrounded by everything Armie, his sheets, his smell, his mattress but even then it’s still not enough to rid him of the overbearing guilt. If he could go back, he would tell him not to walk out that door and then he would have never been angry and Elijah would have never been an option.

Another tear breaches his eye and then a flood and soon he’s crying again, louder now, and normally it would embarrass him to be so pathetic but he really can’t think about anything else other than the searing pain of feeling something he can’t even explain. It crushes him. No, quite literally. He can feel his chest getting tighter. Timmy gasps for air. Fuck. 

“Oh my God.” All of a sudden, Armie’s rushing into his room, pulling Timmy up into his arms and holding him. And Timmy’s barely aware of what he’s saying. It comes out all jumbled and distant, but he hears him say “okay?” and he can understand that, at least. He nods. Of course, he’s okay. Armie’s back, and he’s holding him. He nods and keeps nodding, just wanting him to know for sure.

“Don’t-“ He starts, and then loses his breath slightly, something getting lodged in his throat. He tries again, “Don’t worry about me.” It comes out croaky and faint, but still there. He just hopes he understands. It’s useless trying to worry over him when he’ll only go and ruin it.

But Armie shushes him and tells him it’s okay. He thinks it laughable because if only he knew. If only he knew how reckless he was, he’d be out of here quicker than the word “go”. But Timmy lets himself be fussed over, lets Armie wrap him up and put pillows under his head, all the while knowing this is as good as it gets and soon his eyes start to feel heavy. He drifts off and at some point, the dip in the bed disappears as Armie gets up to go into the other room.

The next morning, Timmy finds him asleep on the couch with a beer in his hand, hanging loosely from his fingertips and dangling off the sofa. He looks like he’s had a rough night, his hair wild and unkempt, his mouth hanging open like he’s catching flies and he hasn’t bothered to change his clothes – all that and Timmy still couldn’t care less. He still loves-

Woah.

No, that’s not right. That’s not what he meant. He still loves the way he _looks._ That’s what it was. Not the other thing, God, no. Love is for the weak, not for regulars such as himself. That’s why he became a lawyer, to be ordinary and boring, not to concern himself with- Ugh.

“Armie.” He says quickly.

Armie wakes with a jolt, confused and disorientated. He looks around for a moment before catching Timmy’s eyes and when he does, fear wipes away and softens into a smile. “Hi.” He purrs and God, it’s like he wasn’t even asleep a minute ago.

Timmy clears his throat and continues, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Alright.” He says coolly, bringing a hand up to rest behind his head and maybe Tim shouldn’t find that as attractive as he does.

“Okay, um,” Timmy clears his throat again, “You know how it’s the last day right?”

He nods.

“Well, okay. So I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come swimming with me. Like today, just after lunch, if that’s okay with you. I mean, it doesn’t have to be. You can say no obviously. It’s just, you know, I liked hanging out with you for the past two weeks and I just think that it would be fun.” He swallows, “Maybe.”

Armie takes a deep breath, looking up to the ceiling for a moment. “Today?” He asks.

“Yes, today. I mean, if that’s okay. We don’t have to-“

“Sorry, I already promised this kid I’d help him with his bench press today.” Armie says still looking up to the sky. Then he turns, “Maybe next time,” 

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, no it’s fine.” _Next time,_ Timmy thinks. Next time.

So he goes about his day, makes himself pancakes because Armie had somewhere to be. They don’t end up going to plan and he’s left with a big soggy mess splattered on the middle of his plate. He decides better of it and chucks the remnants away.

That afternoon, he takes it upon himself to get cleaned up. He tidies the whole cabin, starts sorting his things into his case. It ends up taking the whole afternoon and when he’s finished, he sits back and watches TV. Armie comes home later that day and it doesn’t take long for him to disappear into his room to start packing up his things too. They watch a bit of TV, decide it’s not worth cooking, and order in, and then it’s off to bed. Timmy dumps his chest out as he lays there, thinking of all the time spent worrying about Armie. If he wasn’t such a loser, maybe he could’ve actually spent his time more valuably, and then he could come back to a better life. He’d have learnt how to move on by now, if only Armie hadn’t come along to ruin it. But what’s done is done. He’s gone through the worst of it. Now it’s time to give up, cry a little, the battle’s lost and won.

At 4 AM, Timmy hears a rattle outside his door. He tries to ignore it and puts the cover up to his face. It’s no use. He tries again, nothing now. But the door is being pulled open. He sits up immediately, surprised to find Armie waltzing in, looking wide awake, fully clothed and ready. Ready for what exactly, Timmy doesn’t know.

“What are you doing?” He whispers hurriedly. There’s no reason for him to be whispering but he does anyway. He watches as Armie takes a step closer and then, as if he owns the place, sits down on Timmy’s bed, shoving his hands into his pockets and smiling. After a while, he speaks up. “Are you coming?” He asks.

“Coming?” Timmy gawks, “Where?”

“Swimming…with me.”

Timmy blinks back as if seeing a vision. He must be. His eyes are deceiving him, “You think I’m going swimming? Now!? Have you seen the time?”

“Yes, and I’d like to go. If you don’t mind.”

“You’re crazy.”

“It’s our last night.”

“It’s our last day.” Timmy corrects him.

“Right. So let’s go.” Armie starts to drag him out of bed.

“I cannot believe I’m doing this.” He says.

“I can, c’mon.” Timmy lets himself be pulled up from under the covers and when Armie lets go, it makes him realise just how tired he is.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes you can.” Armie helps him stand up and then leaves him to go find a pair of swimming trunks. “Ready when you are.” He calls out from the hallway.

Timmy hums and shoves his legs through the red shorts. He then puts on a hoodie, a leather jacket and a pair of jeans on top and steps out to find Armie waiting for him in the living room.

“Finally! Okay, let’s go.”

They hop onto their bikes and cycle all the way down to the swimming pool. Over there, the building is sectioned off by a series of metal fences. They’ve broken in once or twice but it was never so barred up and hard to get into. Timmy lifts himself up onto the metal poles with the help of Armie behind him. He lands on the other side and gives a shout for Armie to follow through and so he does and lands with a thud on the concrete. After straightening himself up and brushing away the non-existent dirt he turns to Timmy, “Ready?”

“Yup.”

“Let’s go.”

They disappear into the back where there are a set of stairs leading up to the top balcony. It’s completely dark and Timmy nearly comes crashing headfirst into a wall but Armie’s there to guide him. 

They find the vending machines somewhere next to the changing rooms and Armie bashes one a couple times with his fist. A few snacks come crashing down and he picks up a chocolate bar for Timmy who takes it, not realising it’s one of his favourite until he looks at it properly. 

“You remembered.” He says, failing to hide the blush that’s crept across his face.

Armie shrugs and points towards the other side of the room, “Stairs over there. Come on.”

The swimming pool waits for them at the bottom. Timmy pulls his jacket off and dumps it on the floor, as well as his shoes and his socks, meanwhile Armie walks up ahead. They get undressed as soon as they reach the bottom and it’s not long before Armie diving in and ushering him to join. Timmy takes a timid step towards the edge of the pool, dips his toe in and hisses, the water sending a sharp pain down his spine.

It’s then that he spots a lilo in the corner, a huge flamingo that would be perfect to lounge on. Timmy steps back and goes to retrieve the inflatable. It lands in the middle of the water and so he jumps in at last and lands with a splash. Then he swims over to mount the lilo. 

Timmy finds himself happy to sit and watch as he holds the flamingo’s neck. Armie does some laps and then he comes over to talk to him. He hangs onto the lilo’s edge, leaning over with his elbows to listens to Timmy’s late night-early morning brain going in circles, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

They alternate between swimming and talking, floating lazily in the water and Timmy almost laughs when he thinks about how normally, they would be naked for this part. He’s close to bringing it up, too, but thinks better of it. 

An hour in and he starts to get tired. As one last bit of fun, he challenges Armie to a race just before they go and Armie nods and crosses over to the far side of the pool. When he gets there, he gathers some breath before counting down and Timmy makes it just before 1. 

“Ready? Ok, go!”

Timmy speeds off, racing over to the other side before Armie can even say the word... He starts off fast but a couple seconds into it, feels his arms start to get tired. He manages to make it but not in time to beat Armie, who’s already waiting for him on the other end. 

“Shit.” Timmy says, trying to catch his breath. “You’re too fast.”

“It’s genetic. Wanna go again?”

“No.” 

Armie raises an eyebrow, like he knows something, like he always knows something.

“Okay, fine.” Timmy gives in, pushing himself up against the wall to get ready. Armie starts his countdown, 5, 4, 3… 

And on 3, he’s off.

“Hey!” Timmy shouts and scrambles after him, making a mess on the surrounding floor but not caring because right now, he’s going to get his ass beat. He really tries to make some effort with his arms and his legs but they can’t carry him far enough and he ends up drenched and panting, swimming in defeat as Armie takes home another fucking win.

“You cheated!” He says once he gets there.

“I didn’t.”

“You did!”

“It wasn’t cheating.”

“It was! You’re a fucking cheat.”

“I’m not, and hey, didn’t you do the same thing?”

“That’s only because you’re bigger than me.”

“So what? Winners are winners.”

“Oh my God you’re so- sometimes.”

“So… what?”

“I don’t know.” Timmy starts to laugh.

“Am I funny?”

“No, definitely not.”

“I’m not funny.”

Timmy pushes him, “You’re vain.”

“Is that it?”

“And you’re arrogant…”

“Hm.”

Timmy pokes him. 

“Is there a list?” Armie asks.

Timmy closes his eyes, “No.” But he’s grinning from ear to ear. 

“There is. Go on.”

“Well, you know-“

“I don’t.” Armie folds his arms.

“It’s like, you’re always so good at things.” Timmy continues.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” He says honestly, “But it pisses me off.”

“And why does it piss you off?”

“ _Because._ ” Timmy pokes him again.

“Because.”

“Mmhmm.” 

Armie laughs, “You’re drunk.”

“How can I be?“

“You look it.”

Timmy’s mouth curls up, “Mmm,” and his eyes start to feel heavy. He starts to sway like he’s lost control of his upper body and moves to some imaginary beat. 

“What are you doing?” Armie asks.

“Dancing.” He replies dumbly.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably.” All that can be heard is the water moving against his body, making quiet sounds in the dark. “Join me.” He says.

“No.”

“Come on.” Timmy starts making hand gestures.

“No.” Armie laughs. “I’m not gonna dance.”

“C’mon Armie it’s the feeling.”

“No.” He laughs again, trying to stop Timmy’s hands making indents on his skin. “Hey, get off.”

“You won’t dance with me.”

“ _Timmy._ ”

“Please?” He whines, but Armie keeps trying.

“Stop.” He says.

“Please.” Timmy closes his eyes and leans in closer to him.

“Look at me.” Armie says. “Hey, look.”

He keeps moving erratically. 

“Timmy, look.”

He shakes his head.

“Seriously, Tim, can you stop? Just look at me.” Armie grabs a hold of Timmy’s wrist. “Tim.” And pulls him forward. 

“No.”

“Timmy.”

“No! Armie, what are you-“

And suddenly Armie’s lips are on his, pulling him flush against his body, gripping his jaw.

“Mmmph.” Timmy’s voice comes out muffled and his eyes flutter closed as he lets Armie kiss into his mouth. He puts his palms flat on his chest and angles his head so that Armie can get better access. The kiss feels slow and steady, Armie smoothing his thumb over his cheek and gripping his neck with the other. It feels as though he’s in control and Timmy likes that. He feels as though he’s slowly sinking but Armie’s there to keep him steady. His hand is still wet and cold from being lodged underwater but now with it resting on his cheek and Armie holding him to himself, it tingles and makes Timmy desperate for more. He wants it on his neck, he wants it down his throat.

Timmy curls his fingers into the chest hair and when Armie tightens the grip on his jaw, he smiles against his mouth, kissing back softly as if afraid to take over. The bristles of Armie’s light stubble scratch against his cheek, forcing a moan from his lips, traveling down his throat and into Armie’s ready mouth. His head moves with it as they set up a rhythm that feels good, tongue rolling down into his, mixing saliva and sweetness. 

Much to Timmy’s dismay, Armie pulls away. The cold air finds his lips again, melting away the traces of him, still holding onto his face, and Timmy opens his eyes, smiling when their eyes meet. Armie holds him close, bringing him forward to rest his forehead against his. He sighs, but it’s a happy one and Timmy lets his eyes fall closed, steadying breath as Armie strokes his cheek.

After a while, Armie speaks up, “We should probably go.” He says – no, whispers it and Timmy almost could die. He nods against his forehead but all he wants to do is reach out for more. Everything moves in slow motion, Armie pulling away to get up out of the water and Timmy following him, barely blinking and slightly woozy. 

They get dressed and leave the pool in the early hours of the morning where the sun is just coming up over the horizon. Timmy’s flight leaves in four hours, so he spends the next few saying his goodbyes to Armie and others, who doesn’t actually leave until afternoon and makes Timmy breakfast, sprinkling it in sugar without saying a word, and Timmy doesn’t remember much else. It’s like from that point on, he gets sucked into a dreamworld, only able to make a few noises here and there, like “hm”, “okay”.

He packs up and rolls his suitcase all the way to the front door where Armie waits for him. It’s a little awkward, but they settle for a quick smile and a word goodbye. Armie doesn’t mention seeing him again which Timmy tries not to focus on. Then, he’s off, lugging his bag into the back of an Uber waiting at the gates. He arrives at the airport and goes through the usual process: handing over his luggage and checking through security before finding the right gate and waiting for them to call his plane.

 _"This is the final boarding call for passengers Delta booked on flight 372A to West Covina. Please proceed to gate 3 immediately.”_

Timmy drags his things along the floor and follows the tunnel out to his plane. He shoves his luggage into the overhead and sits down. 

The flight takes several hours and for the most part, he sleeps to pass the time but the moments he’s awake are the strangest. He keeps flipping back and forth between sad and angry.

He looks out the window of the dingy plane and wonders what’s left. Now that Armie’s gone everything is pointless. Where does he go from here? Because that kiss told him everything he needed to know but was too afraid to find out. 

He watches the city go by, the clouds moving in wisps along the sky’s edge, and usually, he would have a plan, somewhere to go from here but it’s all black. He just wishes he had somebody to talk to.

Although with nothing else left to do, there is someone, so Timmy pulls out his phone, needing to let go and tell someone of this new-found realisation that’s slowly killing him from the inside.

**TIMMY: spare key’s under the plant pot by the door. let yourself in.**

He sends the message and sits back. Then for a moment, hopes that something would come along, tell him to change his mind but that never happens. The damage has already been done, and it’s his fault for letting it happen.

Timmy decidedly gives up and closes his eyes, pushing his head back as far as it can go into the uncomfortable headrest he’s been forced to deal with. Outside, the city rears in close, the tiny specs of grey turning to skyscrapers and then boutiques and marketplaces. Timmy only realises he’s been day-dreaming when it’s too late. He looks down and finds his finger gently pressed to his bottom lip, which makes him cringe, and if it wasn’t for the guy next to him, he would’ve slapped his hand away.

He’s fucked.

* * *

When Timmy finally gets to the door to his apartment, he takes a deep breath in. It feels strange to be back, almost like nothing changed at all but in reality, he feels like a different person. He fishes the keys out from his back pocket. They clink and clatter in the quiet of the damp hallway and Timmy’s heart nearly gives out waiting for the door to unlock. He turns the key, hears the lock unclasp, and pushes the door forward. It swings open and fights back on its hinges. 

Timmy’s breath hitches and the luggage in his hand drops to the floor as he sees Ace sitting right there on his couch. He can’t even explain it but the feeling it gives him to see his friend again makes him inexplicably sad, mixed with the events of the past fourteen days, he breaks down right there. Ace opens his arms, wrapping them around him and bringing him to the couch. Timmy brings his knees up to his face and curls himself into a ball, his friend holding him tighter with every tired sob.

“I’m so sorry.” He cries.

Ace only shushes him and rocks him to and fro. There’s no need for words.

“God…” Timmy breathes out, with every last cloud of air left in his body. He shakes his head slowly, like he can’t quite believe himself. “I love him so much.” A tingle, a release, and Ace doesn’t say anything, just reaches over to hold him tighter.

“Gosh, I know, Timmy, I know,” He whispers, “I’m so sorry.” And that pretty much says everything that needs to be said. Timmy doesn’t fight back when the tears start to fall. He doesn’t fight back when he starts to tremble in Ace’s arms. Just like he didn’t fight back when he let himself fall for Armie again. But he tried. God, he tried. It just wasn’t good enough in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you think? I promise there is smut coming, bear with me!!!! also, if you saw spelling mistakes, no you didn't. 😳


	10. I'm Making Time For Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy goes to therapy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST. I'm sorry in advance.
> 
> ~✨I made a Tumblr why not (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/cowboybaebe)
> 
> ~✨and a playlist (spotify:playlist:5Y2eYHIK8DTBirhV0tcUQE)

Crazy is not having a personality disorder. Crazy is leading someone on to believe that they mean more to you than they actually do. If there’s anything that camp taught him is that you can’t go back to the past expecting all the things you used to love to put you back together again. 

“Timmy, it sounds like you don't have accurate information on borderline. Dr. Shin asked you not to look it up online, but I'm suspecting that you did.”

She watches him twiddle a piece of loose string, shrug unimportantly, “So what? Yeah, I did. So what?”

Doc sighs. She’s been trying to coax it out of him all day. Tip-toeing, from the minute he walked in and asked to be re-diagnosed, tiptoe-ing. He’s simply unresponsive. 

This is his fifth session this week, not including the time he showed up to Doctor Gill’s house and begged for more sleeping pills in the dead of night. Ironically, she was asleep. (He climbed through the cat flap, it’s a long story). But after two months of therapy, Timmy’s finally been diagnosed borderline.

And it’s a hard fucking pill to swallow because everything in his life has black and white - happy, sad, love, hate, crazy, normal - and now they’re convinced he’s borderline which means that everything is going to be a guessing game. What destruction will he cause next? There’s no way of knowing. 

One minute he’s on top of the world, the next he wants blood. He just might burn his house down because it felt right, he might just drink himself half to death because he was “in the mood”, because he’s borderline and he has no control, and it’ll be over something stupid too. He knows it. He’ll get a scratch on his car and that’ll be it, the bloodbath. He might fucking _move._

“Why don't we take a sec and look at the checklist, see if anything resonates.” Doc suggests.

“What checklist?”

“To determine whether or not a person has BPD.”

“A checklist sounds like homework.”

“Well, why don't we just hear it and then see what we think? I mean, I am right here. I am right next to you.”

He takes a deep breath, “Okay.”

“Right.” Doc gets up to find a folder hidden away behind one of her bookshelves and comes back to sit down on the chair opposite.

“In order to receive a diagnosis for BPD, a person has to have at least five of the following nine tendencies. Just keep an open mind. Okay? Okay, the first one is severe mood swings.”

Timmy looks thoughtful, or at least it would appear that way.

“Profound fear of abandonment.” She continues, looking up at him once to gauge his reaction.

Timmy only shrugs, “I don’t have abandonment issues...”

“Unstable sense of identity.” 

“No.”

“Paranoia or dissociative episodes. Excessive and frequent anger.”

Timmy lets his mind go blank. He stares into space, out the window, at the floor. Bookshelves. Those are nice bookshelves.

“Feelings of emptiness.” Doc says. “Impulsive behaviour. Recurring thoughts of suicide. These don’t sound familiar to you?”

“None at all.” Timmy says feeling the ripples in his spine as he holds out for another lecture, another speech about how nothing’s ever his fault and that over time he’ll learn to deal with it. 

“You’ve done everything in your life to be good, I can see that.” She begins. Good start. 

“From the moment you walked in here, I could see that. And you were strong enough to reach out, strong enough to take the initiative to get help. Not many people could do that you know. But all I need right now is for you to face your fears. This constant denial of what is happening inside your brain is not only harmful but toxic too.” She leans in close, the minty smell of her herbal drink making him sniffle.

“Timmy, the things that to happened you were out of control, everything that’s led up to this, your mother was neglectful, your father was absent, no wonder you’ve been spiraling these past few months.”

“But I don’t _have_ BPD. There must be something else. Please? You can’t spring this on me and not expect me to worry."

“What is worrying you?”

“If I have BPD, then it’s not just something that I have, it’s something that I am. I can’t be in a relationship because I get too attached. I can’t have friends because I drive them away. Everything I do ends up in flames and then they leave. Every single time, they leave. What is it? It’s like everybody around me has this instruction manual on how to be a normal person or a book, and I never got that book. So where is it? Where’s my fucking book?”

Timmy draws himself back in and sighs, “I’m meant to be a person but how can I do that when I can’t even get rid of the thing that’s making me so dysfunctional? It’s with me forever. Don’t you get that?”

Doc crosses her arms flatly.

“No, I didn’t mean for that to sound so-“ Timmy stammers, “Gosh, you’re just trying to help me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She smiles, “Nobody knows what they’re doing. Not even me.” She takes a moment, seeming to find the right words.

“Look, the truth is we’ve looked at your medical history, your frequent disassociation, unstable relationships with others. All signs point to BPD, and I’m afraid that looking it up on the internet, with all the things people say, wasn’t very smart of you. That’s why I advised you not to.”

“I just wanted to know what it was.”

“And that’s okay, but we’re going to have to look at controlling that. I’m afraid there are far too many misconceptions out there. Instead, I want you to seek out advice from professionals such myself who would be more than willing to help, okay?”

Timmy nods. 

“Hey, Dr Shin for example. I heard you’ve been making real progress.”

“God no, not him.” 

“Why not?” Doc asks with a wrinkle of her lips.

“Dr. Shin? Come on. He’s just gonna prescribe me a bunch of meds, like doctors always do, and they're not gonna work, and I'm gonna end up back here.”

He puts on a voice, “ _Hello, Timmy. How we feeling today?_ “We,” it’s always “we.” Lame doctor-talk. How are you feeling today? _Um, I, um, all right_ – and he’ll try give me some new illness like that other one, told me I was a sex addict. A sex addict? Yeah, I like dick. But who doesn’t?”

She laughs, “Listen, in my opinion, it's true you've been misdiagnosed over the years. It's one of the main reasons you've been struggling. But I also think, with the right diagnosis and treatment, you can and will get better.”

“What if I don’t?” 

“We will try our best to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“But what if it does happen? What then?”

“Then it’s not your fault.” 

Timmy wants to believe her. He really does, it’s just that things have gone so horribly wrong in such a short amount of time that…

He thinks back to summer. Two days after he returned home from camp, Armie called him up and told him he wanted to meet.

“Yeah, I know. It’s going to pass soon. Val.” Armie was on the phone when he arrived at the boba shop, voice sounding dragged out and dull. He rubbed his face with one hand, didn’t even seem to notice that had Timmy sat down. “Calm down please.”

He put the phone down after several minutes, turned to Timmy and smiled like none of it ever happened. “Hey.” He said, letting his eyes fall to Timmy’s lips.

“Oh, hey.”

“You got home safe, then.”

“Yeah.“ Timmy’s leg had started to bounce under the table. “It was a smooth trip.”

“Good.” Armie smiled. “I wondered if you were busy, you sounded it. I’m sorry if I caught you in the middle of something.”

“No, it’s fine, I just got let off for break so um,” Timmy wasn’t sure he could be bothered with small talk. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Armie frowned, “I’m not sure how to put this, to be honest.” 

“Oh?” 

“If it comes out wrong, or If say something stupid, just tell me. That’s all I need.”

Timmy nodded, “Yeah, okay,” though the atmosphere felt anything but. He settled in his chair, watching as Armie took his half-empty cup into his hands and sipped, then leaned back in his chair as if this was casual conversation, as if this wasn’t Timmy’s heart on the line here. Timmy wished he would’ve stayed where he was. 

“We’ve been messing around.”

“We have?” He cocked an eyebrow like this was news to him.

“Yes, we have and we both know it. Thinking about you, being around you… I don’t know. I like being around you.”

Timmy looked down. He knew he was bound to start blushing under the headiness of Armie’s words. He didn’t know what to do with himself, suddenly feeling like he was reverting back into the vulnerable 16 year old he once was, and Armie, the strong 18 year who seemed to have so much.

“I feel myself getting more and more attracted to you everyday, and I don’t know what that says about me or about us, but I just wanted you to know that I do…feel that… about you. So…”

“So?”

“It’s just hard for me right now, with her. I want to be committed, I really do.”

Her. He doesn’t even say it. He doesn’t even say her fucking name. “Valencia.” Timmy deadpanned.

“Yeah.”

“So why aren’t you?”

“She’s always been a part of my life. Giving her up would be-“ He drifted off.

A slash to your ego? Failure? The right thing to do?

“I promised to be good and after all the shit that’s happened, I came here to get my life sorted, you know? I want to be better.”

Timmy narrowed his eyes, turning away to stare at the floor. “Right, well… okay.”

“You’re mad.”

“No, not mad.”

“I don’t blame you. You’re angry. Just say something.”

“Hey, no it’s great.” Timmy said a little too enthusiastically, “You get to go back to a shitty relationship, back to lying. It suits you.” He thought back to the phone conversation. “Does she know?”

Armie tilted his head, “No, she doesn’t know.”

“And you’d like to keep it that way?”

“I would if that’s okay with you.” 

“If it’s okay with me” Timmy muttered. “Yeah thanks for that. Just don’t be surprised when she dumps your ass.”

Armie frowned.

“What? Not my business?”

“We’re going through a rough patch-“

“Wonder why.”

“Yeah well, hate to break to you but I can’t just up and leave.”

Timmy stared at him in disbelief, “A couple days ago your tongue was down my throat.”

“Which was a mistake.”

“A mistake, okay. Like all those other times.” The shop had started to look at them, even Kai was pale in the face. Timmy lowered his voice. “I moved here for you.” It seemed pointless trying to hide it now. “I moved here for you and look where it got me.” 

“What the fuck? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I don’t know honestly. I’m an idiot, and you make me feel good.” Timmy said, slumping back in his chair. “You made me feel good.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He snapped, “So is that it, are we done? Or did you wanna get one last look at me before we go?”

“I never meant it as goodbye. We can still be friends.” Armie said. “But moving here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’d think I was insane.”

“I don’t think you’re insane but you have to tell me these things. I’m not psychic.”

“No you’re right, you’re a dick.” Timmy closed his mouth shut. How had he let this happen a second time? “Fuck I don’t even know why we’re talking about this! You have her. Stop wasting your time on me and be good to her like you say you will.”

Armie shook his head, “I care about you.” 

“You said that last time.”

“Well, it’s truth.” He held out for Timmy’s eyes but Timmy turned away. “I’ll call you?”

“Don’t.”

“Text?”

“No.”

“Well, what can I do?”

“Sort your fucking life out. You’re in a relationship you don’t want. You kiss me and then act like nothing happened. You’re a real fucking asshole and it’s never gonna change. God, it’s never gonna change. How the fuck did I not see this coming!?”

“Listen, I know I’ve been shitty, but let’s be real here, you moved to a town where nobody knew you just to what? To be with me? You didn’t know if I was single, matter of fact you didn’t know anything at all. Yes, I’ve been making some terrible decisions, I admit, but there’s two sides to this, Tim. You were just as happy to flirt and fuck around like she doesn’t exist.” 

“So it’s my fault you can’t control yourself?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying we both have our faults, don’t we? Or is it all my fault?”

Timmy laughed, fallen and devoid of emotion, “I can’t believe you right now.” 

“I have to sort things out, whether you like it or not. Sorry. There’s nothing else I can do.”

“Cool.” Timmy scooted back in his chair with a loud scrape. “Fuck you.”

“Timmy-“

“Leave me alone.”

Just then, Kai waddled out from behind the counter. “Is everything alright?” He asked, putting a hand on his arm to steady him.

Timmy sneered, “I don’t know. Ask him.” He pointed towards Armie, feeble and crummy in the corner. Timmy rolled his eyes, “Look dude, sorry but I’ve gotta go. I’ll be back for tea tomorrow.”

“Honey.” He added, putting his hand on the door handle. “Large.”

Kai nodded.

“Thanks.” 

To rely on someone for your own happiness is to put an undue amount of trust in that person. To become blind to every decision they make, forgive them again and again because it’s easier to be a sap than to be realistic. As soon as Timmy realised this, he got himself a therapist. Her name is Dr Gillmore and she’s very nice.

They started with regular therapy sessions, Timmy attending at least three times a week because world be damned, if he wasn’t responsible with his money. They gave him meds, an extra hole in his pocket, but at least they would help. That’s what they said.

Some new ones, some old ones. All familiar bottles and capsule screens. Strange, how he began to miss them – neglected in the moments Armie became more important to him than his own life.

And so, several sessions later, they diagnose him borderline. It sounds harsh on the tongue. Borderline what? Borderline-might-go-batshit-if-you’re-not-careful. Borderline-explosive?

So when it comes down to it, Timmy really doesn’t like knowing. Far too many online articles all say the same thing, stories of crazy people who stalk their ex, stories of people who can’t tell love from hate. He spent a good half of his afternoon looking at “Why BPD Relationships Never Work”, found that they seem to love the term “Obsessive Love Disorder” and maybe that’s what’s brought him to Gillmore fifth time this week. There’s no way he actually had BPD. 

“Let’s go through the list again.” Doc says. “Unstable sense of identity, paranoia or dissociative episodes.”

“What? Like hallucinating? I don’t hallucinate.”

“You told me the first week you experienced hearing a voice outside of your head. Frequently. That’s a very telling symptom of BPD.”

“Sure.” (He hadn’t even thought about that).

“Excessive and frequent anger.” 

Flashbacks of his day at the boba shop. But that was justified. Other instances... He’s not so sure.

“Feelings of emptiness. Impulsive behaviour.”

He ponders on impulsive – doesn’t even question feelings of emptiness. He thinks back to times in the past he’s been careless with his body. Elijah. Daniel (almost). The guy from the mall who told him he had a nice smile, he let him hit it in the back of a rusty old truck. Many others he can’t be bothered to remember. 

“And, finally, recurring suicide threats or attempts.”

At least that’s one he’s not guilty of. “Well, okay.”

Doc finishes reading and slaps her nifty folder closed, “I know. So not you, right?”

“Haha.” He says weakly, flopping back against the couch. “God, I don’t even have five, I have eight. Fucking _eight_ of them. I’m screwed.”

“No, Timmy you’re getting help. Are there any other things you’d like to know before we finish up today? If you have any concerns, please do tell me. It would be best to prevent you from looking these things up.”

“I don’t know. What do other people say? Others like me.” It feels weird to say it out loud. “How do they deal with it?”

“Well, everybody copes with it in different ways. There are a few recognisable behaviours that I’ve seen. I feel that most of them are a result of impulsivity for example, overspending, binge-eating. Others will try to deal with the stress by turning to drugs and alcohol. Similarly, those with BPD often find themselves not fulfilling out a task out of fear of failing. Take you for example, quitting your job. What pulled you to make that decision, and so fast, I might add?”

“I guess I was scared. My mom always told me that I was only as good as my work so I stuck with that. And then, I got promoted, and it’s like everything I had been working hard for got condensed into that one moment. I could hear my mom but she was angry. Still so angry after everything I had done. I wasn’t even good enough, not even in the job I was supposed to be proud of.” He wrinkles his nose remembering it.

“Anyways, so after that, I guess moving halfway across the country wasn’t such a bad idea, like maybe I could be happy if I just started again. That’s what got me here. I don’t really know where “here” is but it got me there.”

“You are learning to love yourself.” She says. “You should be proud. So proud. That is not an easy thing to do.”

“Thank you. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Absolutely.” They smile at each other. “Do you want some candy?" Timmy nods and she gets up to find a jar of sweets by the window. She brings the jar to him, holding it out for Timmy to take one.

“Thank you.” He says.

“No problem. We’ll start again next week." She closes the lid once he's done and goes back to her own chair. "Please do remember to take care of yourself this weekend. I would advise you not to keep in contact with this Armie guy at all really. I know you’ve spent some time apart and honestly I think that’s the best thing to do. Of course, the decision is yours to make but I feel like you’ve been so much better off. Is that okay?”

“Mhm, moving on, right?”

“Indeed. You are better than some cheap affair and you’ve made so much progress, Timmy, I don’t want you to lose yourself again.”

“Moving on…” Timmy tries it on his tongue, “Uh-huh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally got to the enemies in enemies to lovers 🤧✋ conflict to come.


End file.
